Archive of Our Own

The bells were ringing.

The capital had the routine practiced to perfection, because they performed it the same every single time. One would think they would’ve grown tired. That the common-folk would get bored of the celebrations, of the boisterous music and the flower garlands and the dancing. That they would find better things to do with their time, of which they had so little.

Evidently this was not the case, because the celebrations persisted.

People flooded the streets leading up to the castle, and they cheered and waved at the procession of knights on their horses, tossing flower petals at them as they passed. Maidens swooned, servant boys gaped in awe, children skittered after them.

From a distance, one might be fooled. Sunlight glinted off the steel and silver of the knights’ suits of armor, making them look pristine and unscathed. Their white and gold capes billowed as they went, and they held their heads high, their frames ever so proud.

Seungmin braced his elbows on the railing of his balcony and watched with a faint scowl.

At the head of the parade marched the kingdom’s favorite—the Gilded Knight. Unlike his comrades, he hadn’t removed his helmet, and he kept his gaze fixed straight ahead like he was deaf to the celebrations that followed him.

People held their breaths when he passed. His indifference mattered little to them, if it mattered at all.

As the castle threw its gates open, Seungmin stepped away from his balcony. He was ushered downstairs to the Great Hall. Servants shuffled all around him, whispering to each other, more excitement to their movements than there had been in the past two weeks.

Seungmin was the last to arrive, as he usually was. He’d barely made it to his spot beside the throne before the trumpets announced the arrival of the knights.

From a closer distance, it was harder to be fooled.

Seungmin registered their flaws one by one: the mud on their capes, the dents on their armor, the darkened splotches of dried blood. Remnants of the battles fought. He pursed his lips into a thin line.

The knights seemed no less grand on foot. The members of court and guests of the castle gawked at them with barely a modicum more composure than the townsfolk outside. But they twinkled, here—gems on their dresses, gold on their heads. Shimmery brocade and fluttering fans painted by hand.

Not that this made any difference, because the knight at the head of them all did not spare them a single glance.

He crossed the length of the Great Hall with sure strides, the way he had a thousand times, the thud of his boots on the marble floors echoing over the whispers of the crowd. There was purpose in his advance. He did not falter or slow down until he had reached the other end of the hall.

Stopping in front of Seungmin, he sank to one knee at his feet. Only then did he take off the helmet. His black, unruly hair came loose, framing a sun-touched face, skimming the thick brows above a pair of dark, piercing eyes.

“Seo Changbin, our Gilded Knight,” said the king from Seungmin’s right. “You have once again returned to us victorious.”

Changbin did not reply at once. Through the congratulations and the crowd clapping in welcome, he did not take his gaze off Seungmin. There was an impatience in his features—Seungmin had come to know it well.

A days-old cut across the side of his jaw stood out against his skin. Seungmin narrowed his eyes to thin slits.

Changbin sighed. “I am only victorious now that I have returned,” he said, the way he did every time.

He was holding his breath for something. A crumb of recognition, perhaps. Gods forbid, a speckle of warmth.

Seungmin turned on his heel and left the Great Hall.

Frankly, there was no need for any of this.

Several pairs of hands fretted around him, shoving Seungmin through the countless layers of his formal outfits. He was compliant as they brushed his hair and rubbed creams into his face and hands, but he protested when they brought out the jewelry.

“Sire, this is a joyous occasion!” said his old man of a tutor. “The people will want to see their prince looking his best.”

Seungmin tried to refuse. It went unheard.

They slipped rings on his fingers, wrapped bracelets around his wrists, and hung sparkling gems to his ears until he felt like he might jingle with every step he took. Like one could shine a light on him and it would reflect on every surrounding surface.

He gave himself a blank stare on the mirror, poking a finger at the sun-shaped necklace resting on his sternum.

“His Highness shines brighter with every day that passes,” someone said, and everyone else in the room muttered their agreement.

Seungmin sighed. He was not particularly impressed.

“What did the knights bring you this time, sire?” asked one of his maids as they tied the laces of his shoes.

When he couldn’t answer, because he hadn’t stuck around long enough to receive the gifts and offerings, the tutor replied in his stead.

“The finest silks from the south, they’ve brought. Silver brocade, and the most intriguing lavender, I believe. We’ll have a new tunic made for the next ball with those.”

The servants hummed in understanding, sounding awed for a reason Seungmin couldn’t quite figure out. He only half paid attention as the head of servants listed more things the knights had brought back from their mission.

“Our prince has been working so hard,” one of the maids said, “he deserves only the best.”

Another one nodded, applying droplets of perfume to his pulse point. The tutor, however, shook his head with a knowing smile.

“The Dawnborn Knights are back safe, so his efforts have paid off. Having them home again is the only gift Prince Seungmin wishes for.”

Naturally, that wasn’t true.

These people never failed to be tiresome.

Court members seemed to forget how to act when their shiny knights were around. How the ladies batted their lashes, how the gentlemen shouldered past each other to hear the recounts of the battles. And how the knights soaked it all up, too. It was unbecoming.

“Dessert, Your Highness?” a servant asked him. Seungmin shook his head.

While Seungmin’s corner stayed blessedly quiet, a flurry of movement and chatter followed Seo Changbin wherever he went. They made him repeat the story a dozen times:

“Outnumbered four to one, yes, and we were surrounded on all flanks, but it was then that I remembered…”

Seungmin chewed on the inside of his cheek, keeping a blank expression as he drummed his fingertips on the table. The hours of the feast stretched themselves into eternity, into numbness. He had scarcely taken a bite of the food they’d placed in front of him.

His brothers and sisters chatted amiably with some of the higher ranked knights, those of noble birth that had grown up in the castle. The king, on his part, gifted his attention to a select few. Even then, most of his interest was set on hearing of Seo Changbin’s feats in the battlefield.

On the other end of the table, Seungmin managed to miss out on significant portions of those conversations. Only bits and pieces carried through over the ruckus of dinner.

“With these victories in the south, that part of the border is practically secured,” said an army general to the king. “We can move our efforts to push back against the forces on the east, if Your Majesty wills it.”

The king leaned back on his chair, taking a drink from his goblet of wine. “You would take our heroes to the east, while my advisors would sooner move them to the west.”

“With all due respect, my lord, the royal advisors have not stepped foot on a battlefield in decades.”

“Shall I send them with you, then? But they don’t know how to swing a sword. Ah, let us pray the Light will guide us…”

Seungmin looked away and tuned out the rest. He fiddled with his rings, probably looking every bit as bored as he felt, not that he would need to worry as long as nobody had their eyes on him.

After dessert came dancing. The eldest of his brothers initiated, holding his wife’s hand and taking her to the center of the floor. They made a graceful picture, and people took turns marveling at them, at their loving smiles and their elegant moves. The generals congratulated the king for a match well made, as they ought to. The king nodded in satisfaction.

One by one, the rest of his siblings joined the dance floor, either with partners or with each other, and Seungmin ended up the last one on the table. He did accept a serving of dessert then, taking spoonfuls of pudding as he watched the dancing crowd.

The bright colors of the knights’ formal uniforms made them easy to spot. Seungmin avoided looking at any of them.

Behind him, his attendants were murmuring among themselves.

“Is the young prince not allowed to dance?” one asked the other. It must’ve been a newer addition to staff.

“No, that is just his preference. He does indulge his sisters with a dance sometimes,” the other answered.

“He does not seem to be in the mood for it today,” the first one said, sounding rather forlorn. “I thought he might be more cheerful now that the knights have returned.”

“The festivities tire him.”

There was a lull as a music piece ended and people burst into applause for the dancers and the performers. Seungmin, though he had meant to remain oblivious, spotted Changbin bowing to his dance partner.

The new servant spoke again. “Are the Dawnborn Knights allowed to ask him? I’ve seen them with the rest of the king’s children.”

“Who would dare?”

“The bravest of them, I assumed.”

“Ah, well.” The older one paused before continuing. “I hope he doesn’t. It’s sad to see Sir Changbin get coldly rejected every time.”

Seungmin stabbed his half-finished dessert with the silver spoon, but he did not take another bite. In the meantime, Seo Changbin twirled a different lady on the dance floor.

He shirked his servants’ well-intentioned efforts and made it to his chambers on his own. The strings and ribbons of his tunic took centuries to come undone, but they did eventually, and his layers pooled to his feet one by one.

Seungmin’s hands were shaking as he tossed each piece of jewelry out of his sight. In the silence of his room, where even the fire was out, the metallic clinking was near deafening.

Maybe he should’ve lit the hearth. Bared as he was now, his knees digging into the blankets, fingers dripping with scented oil, the chilly temperature made goosebumps bloom all across his skin.

His impatience betrayed him.

But the cold did not last long, soon conquered by the steadily rising flames that licked at his bloodstream. Seungmin buried his face in his pillow and muffled his panting breaths into it. He pumped two fingers in and out of himself until his wrist started aching, and then he added the third.

A groan stumbled from his throat. He was drooling on the pillowcase. This wasn’t meant to feel good, and it couldn’t, truly—the angle was uncomfortable and his hurry made the stretch burn.

Somehow, that didn’t stop him from shivering. It didn’t stop him from getting hard, his erection rubbing into the bedsheets when he shifted a certain way. The friction made him hiss. He had to squeeze his eyes shut and sink his teeth into the pillow, exerting all his willpower into not chasing more of that stimulation.

When he thought himself ready, the limits of his body loosened into compliance, Seungmin pulled his fingers out with a squelching sound. It mortified him, his ears flushing red though no one was there to witness it.

His legs were wobbly as he put on a pair of pants and one of his loose shirts with the flowy sleeves and the deep collar. Overkill, in a sense, but he was never one to do things halfway.

The castle corridors were somber and deserted, and a cool draft made him pick up the pace.

Seungmin stopped by the intended door in what could be mistaken for hesitation. He took a steadying breath, schooled his expression, and curled his fingers around the door-handle. It offered no resistance when he pushed it open.

Had he gotten here two minutes earlier, he might’ve beaten Changbin to his own bedroom. What could possibly have kept him at the feast for so long?

Looking up from the bench where he was undoing the laces of his boots, Changbin greeted him in a knowing drawl.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“You should’ve locked your door,” Seungmin replied, twisting the key in the lock to make his point.

The knight finished taking off his boots with a hum. He didn’t look even a fraction chastised. What’s worse, he didn’t look guilty either, despite there being plenty to be guilty about.

Perhaps he knew that groveling for forgiveness would get him nowhere—but he still ought to try.

Frowning, a hint of his irritation showing through, Seungmin stalked up to him. He pulled Changbin to his feet and smacked his hands away when he tried to reach for the buttons of his formal attire.

Changbin gave him a look. “I know you like the uniform, but I was about to take a bath.”

He gestured vaguely at the steaming bathtub peeking behind a folding screen.

“So you should,” Seungmin said. He brushed his thumb over the first of Changbin’s buttons, watching the glint of the metal under the candlelight. “You still smell like mud. And blood.”

Changbin acquiesced in silence. Refusing to meet his gaze, Seungmin undid the buttons of his uniform with methodical slowness. The urgency under his skin had faded to a dull thrum now that he was here.

He could take his time.

“Your hair’s getting long,” Changbin mumbled, lifting a hand to brush his fingertips on the strands curling over Seungmin’s ear.

“Maybe I’ll grow it out.” Seungmin pushed the jacket down his shoulders and uncovered his undershirt. “Like a girl’s.”

Changbin let the jacket drop to the ground. “No need.”

An almost stifling warmth bled from his frame. He didn’t smell as bad as Seungmin would have him believe. Though Changbin had probably gathered that, since none of the people throwing themselves at him had commented on the stench of iron and sweat.

Seungmin looped the end of the string of Changbin’s shirt around his knuckle and pulled it towards himself. Changbin tilted forward with the motion, just a fraction. Indulgent—whether for Seungmin or for himself, it wasn’t clear.

Seungmin glanced at his face.

At some point, between one celebration and the next, he’d washed himself clean of the grime from the battlefield. People seemed to find Changbin less frightening when they could forget he spent his time pummeling enemy soldiers to their deaths.

It would be better if he stayed frightening. If he kept the expression he had now, with that quiet focus that shadowed his eyes and pulled his mouth into a faint frown, nobody would think to approach him. They would shrink out of his way and whisper at his back, no more.

The effect vanished whenever he smiled. Not that Changbin was smiling now—but then again, Seungmin wasn’t scared of him.

They discarded the shirt without a word. Changbin’s hands twitched by his sides when Seungmin reached for his belt buckle, but he wisely did not move. The sounds of his breathing and the fire crackling in the hearth governed the room while Seungmin freed the knight of the rest of his clothes.

“Come on.”

Sighing, Changbin let himself be led to the bathtub. He climbed in and sat down, his lashes fluttering in relief as the steaming water enveloped him. He leaned back and propped his elbows on the edges, going a little boneless.

Seungmin stood by the end of the bathtub and watched, his arms folded across his chest.

Changbin’s sun-bronzed skin was a disorderly map of his years in training and in battle. Some scars were more faded than others—some were pale and flat, some were more uneven. Most were scratches, but the few marks of deeper gashes could hardly be ignored.

It was all as Seungmin remembered it. Beyond a few fading bruises and remnants of dirt, no new wounds.

“Missed this?” he asked.

“Among other things.”

Seungmin clicked his tongue, unimpressed. He unfolded his arms and walked over to stand at Changbin’s back. Threading his fingers through the knight’s grimy hair, he tugged on it until Changbin was craning his neck to look up at him.

“You’re filthy,” Seungmin pointed out.

“And it’s only one of the reasons why you’re upset at me,” Changbin replied. He did not protest the pull on his hair or the stretch of his neck. The angle exposed his throat to the flickering light.

Seungmin huffed, letting go of him.

He grabbed a pitcher with clean water and sat down on a stool at Changbin’s back. Changbin studied him over his shoulder, silently intrigued over what he was up to, but he turned around when Seungmin gestured for him to do so.

He had never— done this. It didn’t need to be pointed out.

Somehow, it didn’t feel as daunting of a task as it could have. Seungmin tipped the pitcher over Changbin’s head and carefully soaked his hair, running his fingers through it. The water dripped from the strands and gathered on the empty bucket behind the bathtub, made murky with the dirt of the battlefield.

“I’m surprised anyone was willing to dance with you,” he muttered, “looking like this.”

Changbin was silent for longer than necessary. From Seungmin’s spot, it looked like his eyes were closed.

“Oh. So it’s the dancing.”

“It’s not,” Seungmin said.

Whether Changbin believed him or not didn’t concern him.

His more immediate concern was rubbing the specks of dried blood off the knight’s scalp. Seungmin would’ve called him careless, some while ago, but by now he had figured out blood splattered in curious directions when a blade sliced through flesh fast enough.

So he furrowed his brows and kept himself busy, scrubbing through Changbin’s hair.

“It’s good that Lady Anselet didn’t bore you with her ramblings,” he said after a pause. “She tends to do that.”

“We spoke only briefly, my prince. There was no time for her to ramble.”

Seungmin made a grunt of understanding, as though Changbin’s explanation made a difference in the slightest. It didn’t—brief conversation was still conversation. Still a chance for the Lady Anselet and her maid to bat their lashes at him and wave their fans in that alluring way.

“If you found any of the Earl’s daughters agreeable, however, I regret to inform you they’re soon to be engaged.”

A small noise of amusement stumbled from Changbin’s lips. Seungmin scowled at the back of his head.

“What, all of them? To whom?”

“Yes, all of them. And I haven’t decided yet to whom,” Seungmin replied, his mouth pursing in thought for a moment before he realized his slip-up. He tugged at one of the knots in Changbin’s hair. “What do you care?”

Changbin blindly swatted a hand at him, hissing in pain, but he missed Seungmin’s grip entirely.

“I don’t, heavens, I don’t. Can’t a knight indulge in some gossip?”

Seungmin clicked his tongue. “You’re the source of enough gossip and chatter on your own, as it stands. If anything, you’ve been humored far too much tonight.”

With a sigh that was far too resigned, Changbin forfeited the fight, dropping his head on the edge of the bathtub with a thud. His lack of argument only made Seungmin’s irritation worse.

Though there was nothing Changbin could’ve said—the truth wouldn’t change.

All five of the Earl’s daughters had taken up some of his time at the feast, and all five of them had curtsied and smiled shyly at him, and all five of them had blushed a rosy pink when it was appropriate. And the Earl had come to the king’s table and spoken in that conspiratorial tone of theirs, oh, perhaps one of my girls will be the lucky one, after all.

After all nothing.

Seungmin chewed on his tongue and continued the mindless, sort of meditative task of washing someone else’s hair. He threaded his fingers through the wet locks, twisted them into curls only to watch them unfurl, shiny under the candlelight.

Seo Changbin was a fairly independent knight. He didn’t have servants who did this for him, or who helped him in and out of his clothes, or who tied his boots for him. He didn’t even need help fastening the straps of his armor, unlike others.

That is, he used to, but he’d learned to do it himself once Seungmin rolled his eyes at him for it.

Still, today’s verdict—guilty.

“They get more shameless as time passes,” Seungmin said. “It’s unpleasant to watch.”

“So you do watch.”

“They may get more shameless, but you fail to get more assertive.”

“I have a reputation to maintain.”

Seungmin narrowed his eyes to slits. “The reputation of a flirt is hardly worth holding up.”

As if stung by the venom in his voice, Changbin turned his head to shoot him a glance. His hands turned to fists on the edges of the bathtub before he forced them to relax.

“I could’ve danced with you, if you had given me the chance. And spare us of all this,” he said tersely.

“You didn’t ask,” Seungmin replied.

Changbin opened his mouth to retort, but he changed his mind before a sound made it out. Deflating slightly, he turned away again, and he shot a look at the ceiling that felt long-suffering.

“It hurts morale if my knights think the Lightbringer hates me. They might come to think you hate them as well.”

Seungmin turned up his nose. “I’ve nothing against them.”

More importantly, he’d been diligent. His personal feelings on the matter were irrelevant, and it was foolish for the Dawnborn Knights to waste both his and their time trying to get in his good graces. Seungmin’s duty would remain the same regardless of how he felt.

He would climb the steps to his tower every day, he would kneel at the marble altar, and he would say his daily prayers, once for each knight under Changbin’s command. Whatever his opinion was on them, the Light would not care as long as he got the words right.

At least, that’s what he assumed.

The knights’ and the people’s morale, however—that was another matter entirely. And perhaps Changbin had a point, which only made his irritation burn hotter.

“It’s the little things that get people talking,” the knight had told him once, years ago when Seungmin was still trying to adjust to court life.

“About what?”

“If you listen, you might figure it out.”

Seungmin grabbed a wooden comb and carded it through Changbin’s hair, soothing himself with the mindlessness of the motion. Changbin, in turn, melted a fraction against the bathtub.

What Seungmin had figured out from listening to the gossip around the castle was that people too often let their imagination soar too high. They were too carefree with their words when they thought no one else could hear them.

“It’s because Sir Changbin is so talented,” he had heard a maid say once. “The prince can’t help but be envious, poor thing…”

While another had murmured: “The knight is warmer, too. He connects with people in a way the Lightbringer just… can’t.”

Ever since then, and to this day, Seungmin cursed Seo Changbin for planting the idea in his head that he should listen. Of all things.

And still Changbin had the gall to sigh and toss his head back, eyes closed in complete bliss.

“That feels nice.”

Seungmin clicked his tongue, his ears turning pink. “Be quiet.”

Another might be fooled, but he was not here to make a Dawnborn Knight feel nice. The hair-combing… it was just his preference to work the knots out while the hair was wet. And Changbin, he might be independent as he liked, but he erred on the side of carelessness with these things.

In any case. Seungmin finished his task and put the comb down, letting out a slow breath. He got to his feet and chewed on his bottom lip.

The unresolved conversation—and the lack of groveling for forgiveness—was making his skin itch. He could not get rid of the furrow between his brows. He glanced at the candles on their sticks, the flames flickering like his temper.

When Changbin opened his eyes to give him a questioning look, the decision was made for him.

Seungmin stepped up to the side of the bathtub and climbed in without bothering to take his clothes off. The water rippled as he settled on Changbin's lap, and it quickly soaked through his pants.

Changbin held very still, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

Seungmin studied him from the new angle. The knight was a particular kind of inviting in this position, with his elbows resting on the edges of the tub, water lapping at his waist, the wide expanse of his skin exposed and vulnerable.

“I thought you might torture me longer,” Changbin said in a low drawl.

“When have I ever tortured you?”

He raised a finger to stop him when Changbin’s hands twitched towards him. Placing them again where they were, Changbin huffed, realizing without needing to be told that things would indeed not be so easy for him.

Seungmin reached out over the side of the tub and grabbed one of the candles, prying it off its base. The paraffin was warm in his palms. He held it in front of his chest, the way he did at the end of every day in his tower, when he had to place the candles on the altar before walking out.

Changbin’s eyes flashed with something wordless, the flames drawing dancing shadows on his features. He did not look so approachable now as he had the rest of the day. This might be a fraction closer to what he looked like on the battlefield—sir Changbin the Wrathful. His enemies faltered under the weight of his glare.

Or so the tales said. Seungmin had yet to witness it.

“Tell me again,” he said. “That you would’ve danced with me if I let you.”

“If you had given me the chance,” Changbin replied.

There was a puddle of liquid paraffin gathered at the top of the candle. Seungmin blew it out and held it over Changbin’s sternum. He tipped it slowly, and they both watched in fascination as the melted wax dripped and landed on Changbin’s skin.

It was hot enough to make him hiss, his muscles shifting under Seungmin’s weight. His mouth opened, perhaps to demand an explanation or complain about the lack of warning, but Seungmin cut him off.

“In replacement of whom?” he asked. “You would’ve had to sacrifice some of your time with one of the Ladies. Or the maidens. Or—”

“All of them.”

Seungmin narrowed his eyes. He dripped another trail of wax across Changbin’s chest. It cooled as it hit his skin, leaving a translucent mark on him, over the bruises of the last battle.

Changbin gritted his teeth, flexing and stretching his fingers. He did not complain.

“That would make a boring feast for a knight. Imagine missing the chance to have someone swooning and giggling at you the whole evening.” Seungmin pretended to shiver, making Changbin roll his eyes at him.

When he ran out of melted wax on the candle, he brought it to one of the others and used its flame to light it up again. They were silent as he waited for the paraffin to melt some more.

“Does it hurt?”

Before Changbin could make up his mind about it, Seungmin extinguished the flame again and tipped the candle over his shoulder. Changbin jolted minutely, water rippling with the movement. Humming, Seungmin dribbled a path of wax down his arm.

“You’re bearing it well,” he said, by which he meant: You will keep bearing it.

They were beyond the need for explicit orders between the two of them. Changbin was a good knight in this sense—at all times, he had a keen understanding of what Seungmin wanted from him, and he was made to obey. Without fail.

Besides, he’d been training as a warrior for most of his life. Compared to the stab of a sword or the crushing blow of a mace, the sting of melted wax must be nothing to him. Or it might be just enough.

There had to be a little obsession with pain, in any respectable knight. Seo Changbin was the most respectable of them all.

“Would you have tried to tell me of your bravery in battle, the way you told everyone at the feast?”

Changbin resented the jab, but he didn’t protest it. “Those tales are too gruesome for your ears, my prince. I wouldn’t dare.”

Nodding, Seungmin melted more wax and dripped it over his other shoulder. Changbin’s skin reddened around the spots where the wax landed. A curl of heat coiled and swirled in the depths of Seungmin’s gut.

“I am not a sheltered child anymore.”

“Ah, yes. I forget, sometimes,” Changbin said, wrinkling his nose when more droplets of wax landed on him. “But you would be sheltered forever if it was up to me.”

It was a sort of remark he made often, and Seungmin was half convinced he only did so to make him scoff. A reminder of the stark differences between them—the peril one could endure against the silver-spoon-raised nature of the other. Iron versus porcelain, in a way. A contrast Changbin liked to point out.

Though it probably wasn’t sarcasm alone.

He’d always had this prowling intensity to him. It was in Changbin’s nature; the harrowing training of the Dawnborn Knights alone couldn’t have instilled it in him.

There was a twitch of irritation on his mouth. Air whistled darkly between his teeth as Seungmin aimed more droplets of melted wax in a pattern across his arm.

He must be fighting with his every instinct.

The knightly obsession with pain was one thing, but they were not geared to willingly take it. Deep in Changbin’s muscle memory must be ingrained the impulse to defend himself, to shove the threat away. Seungmin could picture it, from the times he’d watched him in training: how his body moved in a blur, how he predicted the attacks thrown his way and jerked out of their reach before they could hit him.

He was not built for surrender, because he won battles by being the last one standing, and yet here he was. Surrendering only to Seungmin’s whim.

Seungmin melted more wax, careful not to burn himself. He shifted closer, water sloshing around him, soaking through the bottom half of his shirt till the fabric clung to his frame. Changbin’s hooded gaze roamed over him, making his ears burn.

He threaded his fingers through Changbin’s damp hair, giving him a look before tugging to make him tilt his head back. Changbin held his breath, his muscles pulling taut. Spurred by a sick sense of power, Seungmin tipped the candle over.

Wax dripped right under the apple of his throat. Changbin hissed, his eyebrows furrowing before relaxing as the wax cooled.

“Do you need me to stop?”

It was a few seconds before Changbin answered, his voice strained: “Am I asking you to stop?”

Despite himself, Seungmin smiled. He wiped the gesture off before Changbin could see it, and let a few more dollops of wax fall along the line of his neck.

Even here, hours later, Changbin could not rid himself of the impatience that had plagued him at the Great Hall. He gripped the edges of the bathtub with white-knuckled strength, and he bit his tongue, and he kept himself so still the water didn’t even ripple.

It was the same drive through it all: the thought that he might get a crumb of approval if he did well enough.

He was so quietly desperate for it, Seungmin couldn’t help but hold it out of his reach every time. There was a cruel sort of satisfaction in it. In having something Changbin craved and refusing him for no other reason than the fact that he could. And watch him writhe like a worm, his pride the only thing that kept him from begging.

Perhaps Seungmin wouldn’t prolong his torture so much if he could just figure it out. The most vexing part was that he couldn’t understand the reason behind it: why Seo Changbin, favorite of their kingdom and absolute terror of their enemies, chased after Seungmin’s approval like he needed it to breathe.

Why he still kept chasing it, despite the years of nothing but frustration. Seungmin had expected him to drop it at some point, to content himself with something else.

But Seo Changbin was single-minded, and he seemed to be keen on winning this battle like every other: by being the last one standing.

Seungmin huffed to himself. He lit the candle and waited for another puddle of glistening wax to melt before bringing it to Changbin’s lips so he would blow out the flame. For a second before the fire was gone, it danced in Changbin’s irises like it came from within him.

Adjusting on his lap, Seungmin curled a hand on his nape and pulled him to himself. Changbin went easily. He tilted forward and rested his forehead on Seungmin’s shoulder, and his arms hesitated half a second before coming to loop around him.

How predictable.

His body was almost a feverish warmth against Seungmin’s. It took a conscious effort not to press closer.

Instead, he hovered the candle above Changbin’s back and carefully tipped it over. A trail of wax slipped down the first bumps of his spine. Changbin shuddered against him, his heavy breath hitting Seungmin’s collarbone. His hands twisted in the soaked fabric of his shirt.

“Don’t get impatient,” he mused into Changbin’s ear.

“It’s been too long. I need…”

Changbin trailed off when another trickle of hot wax dripped down his shoulder blade. His muscles tensed, then relaxed. He buried his nose in the crook of Seungmin’s neck, skimming his lips over his skin. The warning to not get impatient meant nothing to him.

Seungmin ignored him. He was in a trance-like state, admiring his work as the wax cooled on Changbin’s back. His old scars were faint under the candlelight, and there were some patches of dried blood scattered between the translucent droplets of wax. Seungmin’s mouth went dry, and the flames in his gut burned stronger.

It was inappropriate. They’d never told him outright, perhaps because nobody thought it would cross his mind, but something like this between the Lightbringer and his Gilded Knight—it must be forbidden.

That had not stopped them the first time, nor the hundred ones that followed.

And there was no stopping it now, if the hunger of Changbin’s movements as he mouthed at Seungmin’s neck was any indication. His teeth grazed unmarred skin where he knew he couldn’t leave a mark. His fingertips pressed into Seungmin’s spine, pulling him closer as his hips shifted, chasing friction.

Seungmin released his hold on him and pulled back to light the candle again. It had grown shorter, the paraffin slanted at the top, but there was still enough of it to go.

His hands were shaking just so. The motion jostled the melting wax under the flame, and a scalding droplet landed on his knuckles. He hissed in pain.

“Be careful,” Changbin snapped.

He’d grabbed Seungmin’s hand before Seungmin could even process it. In a blur, Changbin slipped the candle from his grasp and put it down by the bathtub. He brought Seungmin’s hand to his mouth and wrapped his lips around the knuckle where the wax had burned him.

There was a flicker of irritation in his gaze. Even Kim Seungmin could be an enemy if he posed a threat to his prince.

“...I am fine,” Seungmin said. His voice came out paper-thin.

Sometimes, he still felt the impulse to act like he had when he was a child.

He would burst into tears at the slightest inconvenience, his face crumpled in distress, his sobs high-pitched and whiny. Though only when Changbin was around. And Changbin would fold magnificently, cradling him in his arms and trying to shush him in stumbling whispers.

“What, what is it? Where does it hurt, my prince?” he would ask. His eyes would scan over Seungmin’s frame in search of anything out of place, patting his hair or stroking his back in an attempt to soothe him.

A lot of the time, nothing did hurt. Seungmin threw tantrums from bumping into furniture, tripping over his own feet or scalding his tongue on hot tea.

Changbin’s fretting wouldn’t die until Seungmin pointed at the culprit of his discomfort. It was like sending a hound to attack: the knight would take it out on anyone who was within reach of his fury.

Move that table out of his way!

You should tie his laces properly!

Shouldn’t you make sure his tea isn’t too hot?

And then he would turn all his attention to Seungmin, and he would not rest until the prince stopped sniffling. It could go on for hours. There was nothing Seungmin couldn’t ask from him if his eyes were teary enough.

Those were the old times.

Now, Changbin would probably be able to tell he was getting manipulated. And he’d probably allow it, still.

But Seungmin had grown, and he liked to prove to himself that he had grown, so he pushed down the impulse to tear up on command. Changbin eyed him carefully, as if expecting it.

When no fuss was forthcoming, he hummed and pulled Seungmin’s fingers away from his mouth. He studied them under the light of the candles, like there was any possibility that a droplet of wax could’ve left an actual wound behind.

“I’m fine,” Seungmin insisted. “How fragile do you think I am?”

Changbin’s look told him he didn’t want to know the answer to that.

Miffed, Seungmin freed his hand from his grasp and shifted backward on his lap, putting a fraction of respectable distance between them. Alright—there was no respectable distance to be found if they were sharing a bathtub, but. At least they weren’t quite so pressed together now.

A glance downward confirmed what Seungmin had felt nudging against him. He quickly averted his gaze.

“You’re– covered in wax.”

He grabbed a sponge from beside the bathtub, soaked it in the water and strained it. Changbin blinked owlishly at him as he brought it to his chest and started scrubbing at the candle-wax drying on his skin.

“This is… I’m getting worried.”

Seungmin clicked his tongue. “Because I’m being nice to you?”

“No, you usually are,” Changbin said. If he really believed that, it had to be the work of some knightly brainwashing done to him. “It’s your being helpful that concerns me.”

Seungmin paused, his nails scraping at a dollop of wax under Changbin’s collarbone. Again—it didn’t need to be pointed out that he had never done something like this.

He hadn’t been raised to be caring. Careful, sure—but not this. Every day since Seungmin could remember, it was him leaning back and holding still while a handful of people fluttered around him, making sure he never lifted a finger. Washing, drying, dressing, hair-brushing, it was all done for him.

His old tutor would be floored if he saw him now.

He would raise a ruckus, drilling it through Seungmin’s brain that the Lightbringer had much bigger things to worry about. That his hands were too precious to steep so low. That wasting his time on someone below his station—showing care and subservience to them—was egregious.

The knowledge filled him with a familiar sense of guilt, but it could not stop him.

Seungmin cleaned another patch of wax off Changbin’s chest. He leaned forward and gently put his mouth on the jut of his collarbone, where he had earlier scalded the skin.

“Since I’m the one who caused the mess,” he said, “it’s only sensible I should be the one to clean it up.”

Like with many other things, Changbin knew when to keep quiet. He relaxed under Seungmin’s attention, not another word out of his mouth.

Perhaps he understood even what Seungmin wasn’t telling him. Such an odd talent of his.

Consumed by another trance-like focus, Seungmin continued with his task. He washed Changbin’s chest, his neck, his shoulders. He kneaded the muscles within his reach, testing the strength of Changbin’s arms, the plush parts of his chest. His mouth followed the path of the sponge, pressing to warm skin, drawing heavy breaths from the knight’s lungs.

Changbin’s hands gained a mind of their own, incapable of waiting for explicit permission any longer. They were at once firm and unsteady as they roamed up Seungmin’s sides, over the hills and valleys of his ribcage, then down the slope of his back.

A hint of Changbin’s unsteadiness never quite faded, not even after Seungmin worked him up to that point where he was more of a ruthless creature than a human being. With time he’d come to suspect it had to do with that— unworthiness of him. The unshakable certainty that Changbin was stepping over sacred lines, putting his filthy hands on something that should never be sullied.

Being undeserving only made him greedier. The knight fisted his hands in the soaked fabric of Seungmin’s shirt, pressing his fingertips everywhere on his frame like he wanted to reach through his skin.

In different circumstances, Seungmin would’ve put up a half-hearted fight. Now, however, he was better occupied with his mouth latched onto the side of Changbin’s throat, fingers tangled in his hair. He sucked on his pulse point, feeling the rush of his bloodstream under his lips. So much life thrummed right below the skin, where Seungmin could almost taste it, though it was unfairly kept out of his reach.

His teeth sank into the flesh, and he applied pressure until Changbin hissed, an intoxicating noise that poured right into his ear. Seungmin pulled off and then bit him again, feeling the way Changbin disarmed in his hold, tilting his head to the side in surrender. Mottled patches of red bloomed under his work. They would be purple tomorrow, stark against Changbin’s skin.

People wouldn’t be able to confuse them with battleground bruises. The keen eyes of the Ladies and the Earls and the maids, they would all spot the marks at first glance, and they’d whisper hurriedly to each other. It was always such a fuss, the castle’s despairing attempt to figure out who had stolen the kingdom’s favorite for the night.

But Kim Seungmin was no thief. He stuck only to what belonged to him, which was roughly contained between every breath out of Changbin’s lips and every strenuous beat of his heart.

By the time he’d gotten all the wax off the knight’s frame, Seungmin was hard again, and Changbin teetered on the edge of tearing his clothes to shreds.

“Stop that.”

“Please. Kim Seungmin, please,” Changbin rasped against his shoulder. So he was at that point already—where his priorities shifted.

A rush of satisfaction made Seungmin feel like he glowed from within, but he kept it folded out of sight.

“No.”

“Seungmin, my prince, I’m sorry,” Changbin said, pulling back to give him a frenzied look. “For whatever I did, for everything, I’m sorry, I swear. Tell me what– tell me what to say, tell me how to fix it, anything, just please—”

“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for.”

Changbin’s brow furrowed helplessly, his fists clenching on Seungmin’s shirt. The bathwater sloshed with his agitation. “It doesn’t matter, I’m sorry for upsetting you, I’ll be sorry for whatever you want.”

A petulant huff made it out of Seungmin’s mouth, and it was successful at crumbling Changbin even further. Seungmin felt like he’d trapped the end of a worm under his shoe, and he watched it writhe, and with sick intent he could not bring himself to either lift his foot or let it die.

“It’s pointless.”

“No, my prince, don’t say that.”

Nobody else called him that. At most Seungmin was ‘our Prince’, belonging to the kingdom at large, to the colorless mass of faces he could not tell apart. But it had always been this for Seo Changbin. My prince, softened in his mouth, cradled between his tongue and his teeth like something that never lost its taste.

What did it taste like, Seungmin wondered.

I wish— “You should be more tired after returning from battle. It makes no sense that you drain yourself dancing with the Ladies and speaking to everyone who crosses your path.”

“I’m not tired,” Changbin argued, right before catching himself. He bowed his head. “…you’re right. I should better save my energy.”

It was still not good enough, because— the irritation began much earlier than the feast.

“You should be more careful,” Seungmin said. “I thought you were the best of our knights.”

Changbin sighed, glancing down at his arms. “I did not let myself get hurt this time.”

“And all that blood?”

“Blood of the enemies I strike down in your name.”

Officially, it was in the name of the kingdom. Much like everything Seungmin did, day after day in his tower, praying in front of the altar until his knees ached.

But Changbin wasn’t lying.

“It’s disgusting, regardless of who it belongs to,” Seungmin said.

What couldn’t the knight get through his thick skull? It wasn’t right for anything foreign to touch his skin, just as it wasn’t right for a foreign blade to draw his blood.

They had no right.

“Forgive me,” Changbin replied in a whisper of his voice. He was still clutching tight onto Seungmin, almost shaking with the effort to hold himself back. “For the Ladies and for the bruises and for the blood, forgive me, my prince. You’re right– about everything.”

He grabbed one of Seungmin’s hands and pressed a reverent kiss to his knuckles, sighing against his wet skin. When Seungmin didn’t stop him, Changbin went on, putting his mouth to the center of his palm, the heel of his thumb, the inside of his wrist.

Sometimes, it made Seungmin’s breath catch. The prowling intensity of knights. The particular intensity of Seo Changbin ‘the Wrathful’. The glistening, drooling maw of a wolf that had gone too long without feeding, that could sense Seungmin’s pulse and flickering warmth and most of all— his defenselessness.

The survival instinct in him, however weak, bristled. It ought to. If left to his devices, Seo Changbin who was not human, and had not entirely been so in a while, would consume him.

Water splashed as Seungmin pulled back, creating out of thin air a stretch of distance between them. It resisted. He stood up on uncertain legs, his clothes weighing on his frame and dripping on the floor as he stepped out of the tub. The whole time, Changbin stared at him, eyes charcoal-dark.

“My clothes are soaked,” Seungmin mumbled, but his voice had softened just so. Enough that his knight would understand.

That keen gaze tracked his every movement while Seungmin pulled on the string of his pants, undid the ribbon of his shirt, and one by one dropped his garments to the ground. He plucked Changbin’s sleeping shirt from where it rested on the folding screen and shrugged it on.

Without looking back, Seungmin walked away.

The floor was cold but solid under his feet. He’d thought it might steady him some, anchor him back to the world, but he could not retrieve his mind from the haze it floated in.

Seungmin stopped by the window. Outside, the darkness was almost pitch-black, the sky a deep plum hue on the horizon, the fires atop the castle walls reduced to tiny spots of light. On the ground level, several floors below, movement never quite stopped. Guards patrolled the halls and the courtyards, servants prepared for the next morning. Spies were said to be infatuated with the cover of night, too. Not that Seungmin had ever seen them.

His breath fogged the glass. A flicker of motion crossed behind his reflection, and it was all the warning Seungmin got before he was pushed against the window, an arm twisted behind his back.

“Ah–!”

“Shh, shh,” Changbin whispered into his ear.

He pressed himself to Seungmin’s frame, trapping him in place with barely any room to breathe. Seungmin gritted his teeth, his cheek mushed against the cool glass. His heart picked up a hurried rhythm.

Somehow, Changbin had made no sound as he’d gotten out of the bathtub and dried himself up, a towel wrapped around his waist for all pretense of propriety. It seemed impossible that someone his size could manage that kind of stealth, but then that was the way of predators on the hunt.

“Brute,” Seungmin said.

A wave of fever washed over him, making his knees weak, his lungs struggling to draw in some air. Changbin’s body heat bled through the thin layer of fabric between them. It was like standing too close to a bonfire, reason calling for him to shrink away, while fascination pinned him in place.

Fascination and the iron grip on him, rather. Seungmin tried to free his arm, the joint of his shoulder protesting the strain, but Changbin didn’t budge. Instead he crowded even closer, his breath fanning over the curve of Seungmin’s neck.

“Oh, yes, no doubt,” he whispered. “But what does that say about you? You who keep poking and testing the limits of my patience.”

Seungmin opened his mouth to retort, but his voice got lost somewhere in his throat when Changbin’s lips brushed the shell of his ear. A shiver rushed down his spine, a flush climbing up to the roots of his hair.

“Seungmin, do you think I am a good man?”

“…no.”

“Then why do you keep pushing me?”

The reasons were too many to count, and most of them couldn’t even be said out loud. Seungmin struggled in his hold again, a shaky sound stumbling from his lips.

Because you let me. Because you only let me.

Changbin buried his nose in Seungmin’s hair and sucked in a deep, greedy breath. Seungmin bit the inside of his cheek, his stomach fluttering something awful as he stayed crushed between the cold of the window and the burning temperature of Changbin’s chest.

“Sweet prince, you never learn, do you.”

“On… on the contrary—”

No, Seungmin did learn. Religiously so—the way he’d studied his prayers and his etiquette and his history, he’d learned Seo Changbin like the back of his hand. Every word, every inflection of his voice, every cog and mechanism and tug on his leash that got Seungmin exactly what he wanted.

Even Changbin’s obsession was born out of obedience. It was slow work to draw him out of that knightly, rigid shell where he was afraid of gripping Seungmin too tightly, where he couldn’t breathe too hard in fear of bruising him. Slow work, but unfailing. And he was transparent for Seungmin to figure out, and he laid himself bare for the prince to pick apart.

Seungmin, and no one else.

Now Changbin’s hips shifted forward, the hardness of him nudging against Seungmin’s backside through the layers of clothing, making his breath hitch. A forbidden plea built at the back of Seungmin’s throat—he wanted it with an intensity that would’ve made him foam at the mouth. He was shaking for it.

“Has my prince decided how he wants to be fucked tonight?”

Seungmin squeezed his eyes shut. “Don’t care how. Just hurry.”

His voice had slipped into that cadence he hated, reedy and shaky.

Changbin groaned into his neck, coaxing the neckline of his shirt out of the way so he could nip at the juncture of Seungmin’s shoulder. His grip was still unforgiving, the pressure of his hold making the window creak.

“You’re always so impatient,” he said. His free hand sneaked under Seungmin’s hem, wandering across his stomach. “I think I should tell you about the battle, after all. I should tell you…” His fingers brushed over Seungmin’s ribs. “I’ve trekked through mud, and fought in the rain, and I’ve barely slept in the past few days… And I’m seeing you when you’re not there.”

The gentleness of his touch was at odds with his harsh grasp on Seungmin’s arm, keeping his wrist pinned between his shoulder-blades. It was faintly painful—enough to make his head spin.

“You’re not seeing things,” Seungmin said. “I’m here now.”

“No, I should’ve known sooner. This is all in my head, isn’t it? You got in the bath with me and washed me like a sweet servant boy… That can’t be real.”

The words injected a new burst of resistance in Seungmin. He snarled, trying to jostle himself free. It was to no avail, and it only got him more firmly pressed against the straining glass of the window. Irritation flared within him.

“Bastard.”

“That’s more like it,” Changbin muttered against his shoulder.

“If you wanted to fuck a servant, all you need to do is pick one. Or however many you want. Gods know they’ll be forever grateful.”

The knight huffed softly. From Seungmin’s chest, his hand moved lower… lower…

“Uh-huh, and what would become of me if I were so stupid?”

Seungmin didn’t hesitate. “I’d have you lose your head the moment I suspected it.”

A low chuckle left Changbin’s mouth. His touch traced the shape of Seungmin’s hipbone, the way it always did, like he was entranced with it.

“I’d rather you stabbed me in the heart. I can’t die in the hands of another,” he said. He reached back just long enough to discard his towel, while his knee worked Seungmin’s thighs apart. Seungmin almost mewled in anticipation. “But I couldn’t be satisfied with a servant.”

“You’re getting arrogant,” Seungmin said, voice unsteady, “for a lowborn.”

Biting his tongue, he fought the urge to cant his hips back against Changbin. It was so close, he could almost taste it. His skin felt too tight over his frame, like he might crawl out of himself with impatience.

“I’m the most arrogant of all, sweet prince—I can only be satisfied with the kingdom’s dearest jewel,” Changbin told him. His breath was hot and heavy in Seungmin’s ear. “Tell me I’ve earned it.”

“Earned it?” Without warning, a fist wrapping at the base of his erection made him hiss. His body locked up, hips bucking into the touch. “You… wish.”

“So maybe I’m not dreaming after all.” Changbin slowly dragged his fist upward, the raw friction making Seungmin shudder. “In my dreams, you tell me I deserve it.”

“Ngh– do I?”

“Yes, and you’re so generous about it. You tell me I’ve done you proud, slaughtering hundreds in your name. For each enemy slain, you gift me a minute of your time. A minute to have your affection for myself.”

It was getting hard to process or form words. Seungmin dropped his forehead against the glass, refusing to look outside lest he spot people too close for comfort. Changbin kept stroking him at a torturous pace, smearing precum down his length to ease the slide a fraction. It almost hurt.

“Only a minute?”

Changbin hummed. “Accumulated, it makes for a lot of time.”

Seungmin tried to writhe in his hold, but there was nowhere to go. Changbin didn’t give an inch, his grip on Seungmin’s wrist tightening like he was intent on breaking something.

Secretly, Seungmin prayed.

“…you don’t deserve it,” he said instead.

There was a moment of stillness, the hairs on the back of his neck rising like he was in danger.

“And yet— I’m taking it anyway.”

Then Changbin grabbed him by the hip, lined himself up, and sank inside him in one smooth, merciless thrust.

All the air fled from Seungmin’s lungs. A strangled cry caught in his throat, his eyes flying wide open, his jaw falling slack. It burned. His body seized up, a lightning-strike of sensations wracking through him for a moment that seemed endless.

Slowly, he melted. The window and Changbin’s grip on him held him upright when his legs had no hope of cooperating. His forehead rested against the cool glass, and it was the only part of him that didn’t feel feverish.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. Breathe,” Changbin said in his ear. His voice was hoarse, and his body trembled with restraint. “Can you do that for me?”

“I’ve not forgotten… how to breathe,” Seungmin panted.

His attempt at petulance, however, was feeble. He shifted minutely, adjusting in increments to the fullness that always made him feel like he was being split in two. There was no room for thoughts in his skull, for blood in his veins. It was all Seo Changbin.

“Must you do this right at the window?”

“What, are you scared someone might see?” Changbin drawled.

He kept Seungmin from answering right away when he ground his hips against him. Seungmin shivered, holding with all his might onto the pitiful sounds that fought to escape him.

“If someone outside simply looks up…”

“Let them,” Changbin said. “You look so pretty like this, Seungmin. Why would we hide it?”

“Are you crazy?” Seungmin croaked out.

Embarrassment swirled in his gut. With his free hand braced on the window, he glanced at the curtains. Maybe, if he moved fast enough, he could wrangle them into place and keep a trace of dignity—

Changbin must have read his mind. With a scoff, he grabbed Seungmin’s wrist and joined it with the other behind his back, keeping hold of both of them in one hand.

“Tsk. You’re so selfish, Prince Seungmin. Don’t you want to give your devoted subjects a show?”

“No!”

Seungmin choked on that single syllable when Changbin pulled halfway out. The friction made him wince, gritting his teeth to keep quiet. He was starting to lose control of his desires, the edges of his mind blurring as weakness crept in.

Changbin pushed back all the way in, ruthlessly forcing Seungmin’s body to make room for him. Seungmin panted through parted lips, squirming in the unyielding grip. Not really to free himself—rather to be reminded that he couldn’t have, even if he wanted to. The knowledge made his heart squeeze.

“Oh, sweet boy, come on. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

There was plenty to be embarrassed—mortified about. Not that Seungmin could’ve voiced that, as Changbin set a slow rhythm behind him, every single inch dragging against Seungmin’s walls.

From up here… maybe people outside wouldn’t be able to tell Seungmin’s face apart. The distance and the low light should protect him. But it would only take someone clever enough to point out, wait, aren’t those Sir Changbin’s chambers? And then they would all be wondering, just who is Sir Changbin ravaging tonight?

He helplessly shook his head, stifling a whine. Making noise like this, it was unbecoming. It made Changbin too pleased.

“Shh, that’s right. Just give in, will you?” the knight cooed in his ear, pushing Seungmin to his tiptoes with a harsh thrust. “They ought to see their prince for what he really is.”

“And what’s– that?”

Changbin’s chuckle rumbled through him. “A filthy, drooling mess, letting his lowborn knight use him like a toy.”

The words tore a sob from Seungmin’s chest. Humiliation burned bright and fast through him—but it was dizzying, brain-melting, like a shot of alcohol pouring straight down his throat.

(The Lightbringer was never supposed to taste alcohol. It was Sir Changbin who had sneaked a bottle of wine for him, one evening at his sacred tower, wax dripping down the edges of the altar while the candles burned themselves out.)

A single person spotting them, and gossip would spread like wildfire. Laughing knights would clap Changbin on the back, maidens and servants would eye each other dubiously, trying to figure out which of them had been so lucky.

“That’s wrong,” Seungmin said, even as his traitorous body sucked Changbin in deeper, his neglected erection leaking pitifully. “You’re wrong.”

Changbin hushed him, cruel and tender at once, mouthing at the crook of his neck.

“I’m not. You love this, don’t you? Look how shameless you are, you’re not even pretending to fight anymore.”

“I am!”

“Is that what you call this?”

Seungmin didn’t have the breath or the mind to argue. His pretense at resisting slipped through his fingers, his hands starting to lose sensation in Changbin’s punishing grip.

He was so full, how was he supposed to focus on anything else? Stifled moans slipped through his teeth, his pride struggling in the war against this awful helplessness Changbin brought out in him.

“It’s okay, you’re doing perfect like this,” Changbin muttered. Seungmin’s neckline strained as Changbin pushed the limits of the fabric to reveal one of his shoulders, dragging his mouth and his teeth everywhere he could reach. “Seungmin, you feel so good around me. Don’t I deserve this?”

“Shut… up…”

“You know this is the reason for everything, don’t you? You can’t tell me you don’t.”

Another thrust crushed Seungmin’s chest against the window, cold air creeping in through the gaps between glass and frame, covering him in goosebumps. Spit pooled at the back of his mouth, under his tongue, while unshed tears dampened his lashes.

“Liar,” he said.

Frustrated with his denial, Changbin lost his grip on some of his restraint, making Seungmin wail with the next snap of his hips. Too—much–!

“No, I mean it. Screw the feasts and the medals and the gold. Forget about the dancing, the Ladies, the parades.”

“Then what’s left?” Seungmin asked in a husk of his voice.

“You,” Changbin said. He held still, buried inside Seungmin all the way to the hilt, and he whispered straight into his ear. “You, fingering yourself before you visit because you can’t wait to have me inside you.”

Seungmin shook his head, as if he could force that thought out of Changbin’s mind with his will alone. His ears were ringing, his heartbeat thrumming all the way to his toes.

Changbin moved inside him, slow, and kept talking. “You, the way you’re taking me in, the way you’re writhing against me. These needy little sounds you make.”

Another sob wracked through Seungmin’s frame.

“Seungmin, it’s all I think about when I’m gone,” Changbin insisted, his breath hot on Seungmin’s sweat-slicked skin. “It’s the only reason I need to come back.”

Words were a foreign concept, almost completely out of Seungmin’s reach. He could only stand there and take whatever Changbin gave him, a debilitating sense of neediness overcoming him.

“You’re an animal,” he managed.

Changbin sounded triumphant and desperate at once. “Yes. For you, yes. It’s always been this way, I can’t help it.”

This was Seo Changbin’s curse on him.

It unraveled Seungmin piece by piece: stripped him of his titles, his nobility, his holy duties, his grace. Without those weights, Seungmin floated far above the towers of the castle, and yet he was more in his own body than at any other time. He was made of flesh and blood, un-godlike—it was crude, the sheen of sweat, the strain of his joints, the flaring ache where Changbin carved himself into him.

“Please… Changbin—”

There was some irony to it. In how the Gilded Knight made to protect him from all harm took it upon himself to break him.

And Seungmin placed himself in his palms, belly-up and unguarded, even if he sometimes showed his teeth in fake defensiveness. And when he had no other choice, when it was not surrender but rather being overpowered, he crumbled, and crumbled, and crumbled.

Changbin hushed him, murmuring jumbled encouragement as he wrapped his fist around Seungmin’s cock again. He pumped him at the rhythm of his thrusts, slow and drawn-out at first, then steadily picking up the pace. Pleasure washed over Seungmin in unrelenting waves, and he could do nothing but let himself drown in them.

He wouldn’t last long. He never did, on the first night after Changbin came back from a mission. And right now he needed it, it was an ache that coiled tight at the base of his gut and made his hips buck into Changbin’s fist, chasing blindly after his orgasm.

Seungmin dissolved into a whimpering mess when Changbin brushed over that spot he had tactically been avoiding. The rest was all a blur as Changbin jerked him off while rutting into him, until he was ruthlessly being pushed over the edge.

“I’m– I…!”

“Is my prince gonna come? Right here for your subjects to watch? Come on, then, show them, let them see how good I’m making you feel.”

His body arched as he came all over the window, black spots flooding his vision. Seungmin’s knees buckled, and he went fully limp in Changbin’s grasp, unable to hold even a fraction of his weight.

“See that? Aren’t you so proud of yourself?”

“Ngh…”

In the time it took his mind to bleed back into his skull, Changbin let go of his wrists and held him by the waist. Seungmin unfolded his arms with a quiet moan. As circulation to his fingertips was restored, his muscles protested the strain they’d been under.

Changbin started to pull out, and Seungmin unthinkingly clenched around him.

“No, no,” he complained, throat dry, tossing his head back to rest on the knight’s shoulder. “Don’t go, don’t stop…”

“Oh, sweet prince,” Changbin said. “You think I’m done with you? Not yet, no—just let me get you to bed.”

Seungmin shook his head again, but he didn’t have the breath to argue. He caught a last glimpse of his come glistening on the window pane, the world outside cast in darkness, before Changbin slid out and turned him around.

The knight lifted him off the ground, an arm under Seungmin’s knees and the other curled around his back. He made it seem as though Seungmin weighed nothing.

Seungmin nestled his head on the crook of Changbin’s neck. He was warm as a furnace, and his pulse thrummed steadily under his skin. Dazedly, Seungmin burrowed closer, sniffing at Changbin’s familiar scent as he tried to breathe through the aftershocks of his climax.

Changbin brought him to the bed and placed him down on the mattress. Seungmin found himself blinking up at the canopy, but it was only a second before Changbin’s face came into view. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, his sweat-damp curls sticking to his forehead.

Whining weakly, Seungmin leaned up, begging without words. His arms felt heavy as lead when he looped them around Changbin’s neck to bring him down. Their lips met sloppily, uncoordinated. Seungmin parted his mouth and Changbin greedily licked into it, groaning against him, pressing closer to cage him under his weight.

“Seungmin– Seungmin,” he said, “I need to— Let me… Be good and let me fuck you, darling, come on, open your legs for me.”

His mind was still blurred, his skin tender. And yet Seungmin spread his thighs and hooked an ankle over Changbin’s waist to pull him in.

Changbin couldn’t help himself. He rutted against Seungmin’s lower stomach, leaking precum all over him, his cock flushed and throbbing. Grunting, he kept licking at the seam of Seungmin’s mouth, the corners of his lips, nipping at his jaw and nosing at his neck.

Seungmin shuddered underneath him, brittle and spent. He wasn’t all aware of his surroundings—couldn’t be, with Changbin overwhelming his every sense.

“You can take it, baby, can't you?”

“Ye- yes,” he rasped out, eyes fluttering shut. “Please, I want it, I…”

He didn’t have the mind to even beg properly—Changbin liked it when he did, but he also liked it when his prince was out of it, trying very hard to muster simple words. So Seungmin tried, and he rocked his hips against him, prompting Changbin to fuck him already.

Huffing into Seungmin’s neck, Changbin nipped at his collarbone before pulling back. He braced himself with a hand on the mattress, panting on top of Seungmin as he lined himself up, the head of his cock teasing at Seungmin’s entrance. The prince choked on a whine, shaken by how badly he needed it.

“Is this what you want? Tell me, Seungmin.”

“Please, please, give it to me—”

He couldn’t finish his sentence. Changbin pushed inside him, inch after painstaking inch until he was seated all the way in. They breathed out a moan in unison, a single, ragged heartbeat thrumming through both of them.

It turned out maybe Seungmin couldn’t take it. It was too much, too good, and his nerves felt rubbed raw, prickling at the slightest touch. His toes curled and his back arched, fists scrabbling at the sheets.

Fully aware of Seungmin’s state, Changbin started moving. He pulled back and ground his hips forward, drawing a pained little noise from Seungmin’s bitten-red lips.

“Oh, I know, darling, I know,” he soothed, though he didn’t stop. “I know, it’s a lot, isn’t it? But you’re doing so well for me, you’re trying so hard. Take it for me, I know you can.”

He had too much faith. Seungmin’s head spun, the world tilting out of axis. He squirmed, whimpering, until Changbin grabbed him by the hips to keep him still. Then he used his grip to pull Seungmin down onto his cock, hitting a spot that made him wail.

Tears welled up in his eyes. His mortifying sounds flooded the room, joining the filthy, rhythmic noise of Changbin fucking into him. The bedposts thudded against the wall and the sheets rustled beneath him.

“Fuck, Seungmin, you feel so good. Look at you, you love this, don’t you? If you keep this up, the whole floor will hear you screaming for me.”

“No– no…”

“No? Should we make it the whole castle, then?”

Seungmin shook his head, tears spilling down his flushed cheeks. Everything was burning, his brain was evaporating. He wasn’t even sure what he was protesting, only that it felt like he should protest.

“I think we’re going to.” Changbin groaned, picking up a punishing rhythm. “It’s a good thing, baby. Let the whole castle know what a good job their little prince is doing for me. You take it so well, don’t you?”

“Yes—!”

“Fuck, that’s right,” Changbin said. His grip was bruising on Seungmin’s hip, like he was trying to carve his fingerprints into the bone. “You’re just made for it, sweetheart, made to have my cock inside you.”

Seungmin found himself nodding. His mind was swimming, and every bit of strength was sapped from his body. He was limp and useless on the bedsheets while Changbin rocked into him. His spent cock twitched pitifully between them.

“Please, I can’t– I can’t…”

“Shh, come on, just a little more, darling,” Changbin encouraged him. A droplet of his sweat fell from his nose and shattered on Seungmin’s cheek.

“No, I really—” Seungmin clawed at Changbin’s back, making his hips stutter. He let himself be folded almost in half, one of Changbin’s hands on the back of his thigh, handling him like clay. “Hurry… I need…”

“Oh, what does my sweet prince need?”

“Ngh—”

“Use your words,” Changbin said, punctuating the command with a sharper thrust that punched a sob from Seungmin’s chest.

He didn’t have words, he didn’t have a brain, it had all left him in favor of making room for Changbin. And the knight knew, he knew perfectly well what Seungmin was asking for. He was just being cruel, dangling the prize out of Seungmin’s reach, making him think, making him speak…

More tears rushed down his temples, that aching helplessness disarming him.

“Come inside me– please, please, I need it, I– I’ve been waiting—”

Changbin let out a broken moan, his fingers digging painfully into Seungmin’s thigh. His hips snapped against Seungmin’s ass, almost hard enough to bruise.

“Yeah, fuck, fuck… Been waiting for me to come back and fill you up, huh? You’re so desperate for it.”

He didn’t care if Seungmin bruised. It showed in his eyes—that he was gone, truly gone, now, his gaze feral and his movements rushed. That he was using Seungmin’s body with the sole purpose of finding release, and in the process he might break him. Changbin was trying to break him. Folding him in half and splitting him open, uncaring that Seungmin was barely holding onto his last threads of consciousness.

Seungmin could’ve let go at any moment. He only didn’t because he wanted to feel it, the moment when Changbin keeled over the edge and spilled inside him.

“Please, Changbin…!”

“Shh, I know, I know,” Changbin panted, his rhythm all over the place. It wouldn’t be long—Seungmin could feel him throbbing. “I’m gonna give it to you, baby, just hold still for me, just a little longer—”

His voice splintered into a helpless groan, his hips bucking into Seungmin a few more times before he was spilling inside him in hot spurts.

Seungmin gasped, his eyes rolling back. He soaked up the sensation of Changbin filling him up, warmth spreading all over, and he squeezed around him to milk him dry.

Changbin’s motions slowed, but he didn’t stop entirely. He dropped his forehead on Seungmin’s shoulder and rode out his orgasm, struggling to catch his breath.

Seungmin twirled the ends of Changbin’s damp hair between his fingers. His eyelids were heavy, his inner thighs sore from keeping them open. He floated on the murky waters near sleep, sated and content like he hadn’t felt since Changbin left.

Coming down from his high, Changbin held himself up on an elbow and nuzzled Seungmin's cheek. He brushed Seungmin’s bangs from his forehead, his touch disarmingly gentle, his gaze achingly soft.

Seungmin leaned into the contact, a soft whine slipping from his lips. His thoughts were loose, scrambled, and his skin prickled with oversensitivity.

Changbin wasn’t sated.

His mouth wandered down Seungmin’s throat, skimming over his collarbones, then down to his chest. He slid the damp shirt off him as an afterthought, hands roaming over the exposed skin. Seungmin let out a garbled sound, unable to form words.

Time stretched longer and longer between each of his blinks. He blinked and found himself on his stomach, a pillow under his hips. He blinked and came back to the weight of Changbin’s palms on his ass, crudely spreading him open. A trickle of still-warm cum seeped down Seungmin’s inner thigh.

Consciousness slipped from his fingers, and Seungmin had no strength to cling to it. He was floating, weightless.

When he blinked again, something wet pressed against him. Changbin’s tongue swirled lazily at his entrance. Seungmin flushed all over, hiding his face in the pillows. Changbin kept him spread open and exposed, lapping up his own release before it could trickle down Seungmin’s thighs.

A weak sob shuddered through him. He was too tired for this, too sensitive, he didn’t have the energy to process any of what was happening. No more, he would’ve said if he could find his voice—but it would’ve been an act.

While he wasn’t paying attention, his cock rubbed against the pillow beneath him. He was hard again. The realization was enough to make him whimper, fists clenching on the bedsheets. No, no more. Seungmin could scarcely bear the thought of cumming again.

Aware of his conflict or not, Changbin continued his onslaught. He pulled back just a bit, maybe to catch his breath, and then he went on to nip at the flesh of Seungmin’s ass. Gentle first, then hard enough to sting. He moved lower and sucked a mark into the back of Seungmin’s thigh.

Were he in his right mind, Seungmin would’ve protested.

He had no voice to protest now—there was nothing other than slurred little sounds, half muffled in the pillows. His thoughts sounded the same. As Changbin shifted and jostled him, Seungmin’s cock dragged against the silken pillow cover, making his breath hitch.

“Seungmin, baby, let me fuck you again,” Changbin mumbled against the small of his back. “It’s still early.”

“No…”

“Please, please let me. I’ll make you feel so good, darling, please.”

His hands roamed without rest, squeezing at every bit of Seungmin’s skin they could reach. Wherever Seungmin tried to focus, there Changbin was, all-encompassing and taking over him.

“I’m tired,” Seungmin said in a whimper, and he sounded regretful.

Frustrated tears burned in his eyes. He cursed his body for its weakness, for the way his skin prickled, the way his limbs refused to cooperate. He was so tired, couldn’t even hold himself up—

“I know, I know. You don’t have to do anything,” Changbin told him. He draped himself over Seungmin’s back to nose at his neck. “I’ll do it all for you, just say you’ll let me. Or tell me to stop.”

“I’m… sleepy.”

“I know,” Changbin said. “That’s fine, isn’t it? I’ll take care of you.”

Yes, that sounded right. Changbin would take care of him. It was exactly what he’d been doing this whole time, for as long as Seungmin could remember, and he so rarely asked for anything in return. He counted himself lucky if Seungmin stroked his hair or let him touch his hand once every few months.

Now he was only asking for this. Just once, just a few times more. Until the untameable beast of his desires was put to sleep. And Seungmin—he could be useful. He could make himself useful and it would take no effort from him, because that’s what Changbin did. Made things easy for him at every turn.

So he sighed, and he melted on the bedsheets with a jerky nod, and Changbin wasted no more time.

He lined himself up and buried his cock into Seungmin in one smooth motion. It was even easier this time, with the added slickness of his cum and his spit not yet dried.

Seungmin parted his lips around a soundless gasp, drooling onto the pillows. His eyes rolled back. Even in the overwhelming, dizzying sensations, he was flooded by a sense of bliss, the bone-deep relief of being complete.

Muttering incoherent words into Seungmin’s hair, Changbin grabbed him by the waist and pulled him up to sit on his lap. He handled Seungmin’s limp, helpless body like it was clay, like it weighed nothing. His chest braced Seungmin’s back, his shoulder a cradle for Seungmin’s head.

Seungmin blinked up at the canopy, burning all over, feeling Changbin’s length throb deep inside him. Touching places he’d never thought could be reached.

“See, just like this.” Changbin started grinding his hips upward, in small, needy little motions. “It’s good, isn’t it? Feels good having me inside you, right?”

Seungmin couldn’t form words, only breathy sounds punched out of him with every movement.

“My prince is doing so good for me, wish you could see yourself. You’ll let me fuck you until I can’t anymore, won’t you?”

“Yes,” Seungmin rasped.

“And if my prince falls asleep?”

“Keep going.”

Changbin hummed, gripping Seungmin’s hips to lift him up before pulling him down on his cock again.

“And when should I stop?”

“Never,” Seungmin gasped, his back arching. “Never.”

With a groan, Changbin thrust a little faster into him. His arms around Seungmin’s frame were the only thing holding him upright. He stopped running his mouth in favor of lapping at Seungmin’s exposed throat, his tongue hot and insistent.

The world faded around them, and time lost all meaning. Seungmin felt his orgasm building at the base of his belly, and he tried to stave it off, to somehow warn Changbin to slow down. It was too much, too fast. And yet his words were no human language—not that Changbin would’ve heeded even if he understood.

A particularly sharp thrust pushed him over the edge, suspending him over an abyss of sensation that stole his breath. Seungmin’s vision swam in black. His walls fluttered around Changbin, and the knight made a low sound before pushing him face down on the mattress again. Seungmin scrabbled helplessly at the bedsheets.

Changbin didn’t stop. He muttered a senseless combination of praise and apologies, his fingers threatening to leave indents on Seungmin’s bones.

A new rush of warmth washed over him as Changbin spilled deep inside him again. Seungmin whined low into the pillow, his gaze hazy, his tongue heavy as cotton and his mind blissfully gone.

It wasn’t enough, even then. Changbin was far from tiring—curse the stamina trained into him as a Dawnborn Knight.

Seungmin lost track of it. He surrendered his body to the care of the only one worthy enough to have him. Dreams blended with reality. Sometimes there was darkness; sometimes there was Changbin still inside him, kissing his eyelids; sometimes there was a mouth on his chest, hands curled at the small of his back.

At some point, he found himself nuzzling Changbin’s neck, arms loosely curled around him.

“So good for me, my love, aren't you?” Seungmin heard himself whisper, dreamily, the words so faint he wasn't sure he'd even voiced them.

It must've been then that Changbin was finally, finally sated.

The night crept towards dawn.

Seungmin stirred from his sleep with a beam of light warming his eyelids. He groaned and draped a hand over his face, turning to curl up on his side. Right next to him he found something warm, breathing.

He cracked an eye open to find Changbin fast asleep, mouth parted around a quiet snore. He must’ve exhausted himself at some point. One of his arms served as a pillow for Seungmin’s head, and the silken sheets were haphazardly draped over his bare body.

Seungmin shifted closer, bringing skin to skin. He glanced outside the window and tried to judge how late it was from a glimpse at the sky.

It was still early. On a normal day, his attendants would come wake him up before the first rays of sun brushed the horizon, but it was the morning after a party. They would not be looking for him just yet.

He turned away from the window and pressed his nose to Changbin’s chest, breathing him in. An unbidden sense of comfort loosened his muscles. Seungmin let the steady rise and fall of Changbin’s chest soothe him, and he dozed off again.

When he next woke up, there were fingers carding through his hair. His scalp tingled pleasantly, and Seungmin leaned into the touch with a hum. The fingers hesitated, just a second, before resuming their calming rhythm.

“You’re still here,” Changbin said, his voice thick with sleep.

Seungmin took a breath, then let it out in a slow sigh. He turned on his back and blinked his eyes open at the canopy, his lips pulled into a thin line.

Though he wouldn’t word it outright, the surprise in Changbin’s tone was evident. He had expected Seungmin to be gone before sunrise—like he usually was.

Maybe he should’ve left. Try as he might, Seungmin could not explain to himself why he hadn’t. Indulgence at night was one thing—night was the cover for servants and spies and forbidden lovers, after all—but he never let himself be weak in the morning.

He spoke dimly. “Let it be you who leaves first, for once.”

Changbin opened his mouth, before audibly swallowing back whatever protest he had on the tip of his tongue. The silence was somehow more telling.

Seungmin gritted his teeth. Why did it feel as though he had said something cutting? His stomach churned. Changbin’s gaze weighed on the side of his skull, quietly reproaching.

It was improper of the Lightbringer to complain. The Lightbringer had nothing to complain about, as long as his people were safe, as long as his knights came back victorious from every fight.

They would not have to come back if they did not go away to begin with. Yet they kept and kept on leaving.

Seungmin let himself be pulled into Changbin’s arms. He hid his face in his chest, hugging his waist, his eyes squeezed shut. It was stupid. The Lightbringer could not afford to be stupid.

Lips pressed against the crown of his head.

“I am glad you stayed. My prince,” Changbin said. “My sweet prince.”

They tangled their legs under the bedsheets and they breathed in tandem. A voice in the back of Seungmin’s head nagged at him to sober up, to get out of there. Out of this warm embrace that made him feel… young.

“Tell me what you’ve been up to while I was gone, my prince,” whispered Changbin into his hair. His fingertips drew idle patterns on Seungmin’s nape.

For a while, there was nothing forthcoming.

“…prayer. Meditation. Reading.”

Seungmin’s response was muffled, but Changbin seemed to hear him. He made a noise of acknowledgment, as if encouraging him to keep going.

“There is not much to tell,” Seungmin said. “Every day is the same. The Dawnborn Knights are home safe, so I must have prayed dutifully. The kingdom still stands, so the Light still favors us.”

“Have you read the books I brought you last time?”

“Yes.” A few times each, though he wouldn’t admit that.

“I got you some more, but you’ll have to read them in secret. They’re in the enemy’s tongue.”

Seungmin smiled despite himself, his pride saved only by the fact that Changbin couldn’t see him.

“You are a bad influence.”

He expected Changbin to quip back right away, but there was a strange pause instead. When the silence stretched and the fingers at his neck held still, Seungmin pulled back just enough to glance at Changbin’s face.

There was something troubled in his eyes—in the dip between his eyebrows, and also in the tension around his mouth. Seungmin was about to question him, but Changbin beat him to it.

“I worry about it, sometimes.” He tilted his face and studied Seungmin in a way that made him feel transparent, brushing his thumb along his cheekbone. “Whether I might be ruining you.”

Seungmin frowned. “Ruining me.”

“Because of this, I mean.” Changbin gestured vaguely at their tangled bodies when he said 'this'.

Suddenly feeling naked in the bad way—the clammy, bony way, where he was painfully aware of his skin and everything that pressed against it, where he felt too visible and too pale—Seungmin pushed himself up on his arms and forced some distance between them.

“Do I,” he started, and his throat tightened. “Do I seem ruined to you?”

“No— no.”

Before he could irreversibly retreat, Changbin grabbed his hands and brought them to his face. He pressed them to his cheeks first, closing his eyes, and then he dragged his lips all over Seungmin's knuckles.

“That is not what I said,” he muttered. Seungmin wanted to believe him, but this strange hint of regret still lingered on Changbin's expression. “I just think… you used to be happier.”

“…oh.”

When Changbin opened his eyes, Seungmin averted his gaze. He forgot to pull his hands from the knight's grip, and so he was helpless against it when Changbin brought him down into his arms again. They lay on their sides, heads on the same pillow, noses bare inches apart.

“Tell me, if it's something I've done,” Changbin said. “If I've been too selfish, or if I'm taking too much from you. I am at a loss—whether I bring you shiny gems, or precious silks, or forbidden books… Nothing seems to be to your liking.”

Seungmin considered it. He absentmindedly poked at Changbin's cheek with his fingertip, testing the easy give of his skin, amazed at how pliable the body of a fearsome warrior could be. If somebody else were to touch him, would they find the same softness? Or would Changbin be made of stone for them?

“Do you wish I would smile at you in court?” he asked in the end.

“Not quite. But maybe my wishes are too ambitious.”

Knowing him, he probably hoped Seungmin would come bouncing up to him whenever the Dawnborn Knights marched into the city, his features brimming with childish glee.

The way it used to be.

Seungmin rested his hand between them on the pillow. “It's no failure of yours,” he confessed. At any other time, he might've left it at that, but the drowsiness of the early morning made him weak, and Changbin kept giving him that unbearable look. So he added: “It's everything else that's ruining me.”

He didn't need to elaborate for Changbin to understand. He sighed, and he brushed Seungmin's hair from his forehead.

“Sometimes I wish you had never moved to the capital.”

“Don't say that.”

Such an admission might be misplaced even in the cover of night, and there sure was no room for it here.

Seungmin turned around and led Changbin's arms to loop around his waist, the knight's chest slotting against his back. Like this, he at least didn't have to worry for what his face might be revealing. And he didn't have to put up with Changbin's transparency, either.

Of course Seungmin would've seemed happier before moving to the capital—when he lived in that sunny cottage past the eastern mountains, where the green prairies stretched in every direction without end. He'd been a child back then, that was all the difference. They had both grown up, hadn't they? They had both changed.

The servants looking after Seungmin at the cottage used to compare him to a puppy. He'd always huffed at this comparison, but he hadn't quite been able to argue against it. His excitement came easy, over simple things, and his laughter was a reward for the smallest accomplishments.

The comparison was nigh impossible to refute as soon as Seo Changbin came around.

For as long as Seungmin had been hidden away in that cottage, the only visitor allowed from the outside world had been his Gilded Knight. He would come at least once a month, going back so far Seungmin couldn't remember their first meeting.

What he remembered was waiting for him. Sitting at his window and watching the path to the front door till his body was stiff from holding a single posture for too long. Having his hair trimmed and his clothes always cleaned, so everything would be presentable for when Changbin showed up. Asking his tutors, over and over, when is he coming? What's taking him so long?

Perhaps that's what Changbin missed. The kid who would yell his name and come running over, leaping into his arms before he had made it through the door.

But Seo Changbin was younger back then, too—just a teen. Warrior training hadn't filled out his frame yet, and the battlefield hadn't scarred him. He'd had no defiance in him, despite all of Seungmin's petulance.

It was good, and it was simple, and Seungmin had foolishly believed it would last forever.

And then his brothers started dying.

There used to be twelve brothers and sisters born before him—all in quick succession, each a more desperate attempt to birth the one favored by the Light. His mother faced the risk of execution, and his father might've been overthrown, had their prayers not been answered with their thirteenth and last child.

Born as the Lightbringer, Seungmin would've been kept at the cottage for at least a few more years, if war hadn't taken a liking to stealing princes. The fifth prince fell first, during a night ambush, and then the second prince suffered the same fate, leading a battle on their borders. With two more of his children taken from him, the King grew nervous, and so he'd summoned the Lightbringer to the castle much earlier than expected.

Seo Changbin's mistake had been painting a picture of the capital that shattered the moment Seungmin stepped foot in it. Bright and lively, Changbin had described it, overflowing with music and entertainment and friendship.

Liar.

Instead Seungmin had learned what it meant to fall into a den of vipers. He'd learned the sting of slanted looks and words whispered behind his back, just loud enough for him to hear. He'd learned the crushing weight of guilt—when their soldiers lost a battle, when the enemy advanced on their territories— because he wasn't praying enough, wasn't focused enough, wasn't selfless enough.

Changbin interrupted the spiral of his musings pressing his nose into Seungmin's nape. His arms tightened around him until it was almost hard to breathe, but the pressure grounded him, drawing him back into his body.

The sun had inched a little farther along its arch over the sky. Seungmin's attendants would be looking for him soon. He had to find the will to rip through the comforting fabric of this moment and slip free from it.

“When are you leaving again?” he asked, breaking the peace where their heartbeats had begun to fall in sync.

Changbin rested his forehead on Seungmin's shoulder. “I haven't been given my next assignment yet.”

“They'll give you one soon.”

There was always something for the Gilded Knight to do. Another assault to lead, another frontier village to defend, another war general to aid.

“Would you rather I stay?”

“You can't.”

“But would you prefer it?” Changbin insisted.

Seungmin gritted his teeth. He extricated himself from Changbin's grasp and got up from the bed, heading for the knight's closet without listening to his grunts of protest.

It did not matter what Seungmin preferred. To even ask was cruel, in a way. As if Seungmin could say that he only remembered what it felt like to be himself when Changbin was around. As if he could ask him to stay.

No, maybe he could. But wouldn't that only ruin them both?

When he made it back to the bed with a bundle of borrowed clothes to change into, Changbin straightened up and took them from him. He gestured for Seungmin to sit down, and Seungmin obeyed with a huff.

“Maybe I could retire young,” Changbin said. He fished the white shirt from the bundle of fabric and tossed the rest onto the mattress. Shuffling closer, he helped Seungmin into the shirt without asking.

Seungmin rolled his eyes when his head poked through the collar. “You couldn't. They wouldn't let you.”

“Who would stand in my way? I'll strike them down, as I have everyone else before.”

“It's an entire kingdom you would have to slay,” Seungmin pointed out.

Changbin tied the strings at his cuffs and lifted Seungmin's arm to press a kiss to his wrist. He was too self-indulgent, in the early hours of the morning. Though Seungmin couldn't bring himself to be more stern.

“You ought to understand one day,” Changbin said, getting off the bed, “it is not the kingdom I fight for.”

He crouched by Seungmin's feet and held his undergarments for Seungmin to step into. His hands worked as though they had done this a million times before, helping Seungmin into his pants next, and finally pulling him to his feet so he could smooth out any remaining wrinkles.

Seungmin glanced down at himself—dressed without any effort of his own.

“Then your training has failed you,” he replied belatedly.

“Well, yes,” Changbin agreed. “I may be history's worst Gilded Knight.”

Seungmin shook his head, but the impulse to smile prodded at the corners of his mouth.

History's worst Gilded Knight—for history's worst Lightbringer. It was a catastrophic omen.

“What would you do, then? If you retired?” he questioned, sitting down again while Changbin grabbed clothes for himself.

The knight hummed in thought. The sunlight from the window skimmed over his bare back as he rummaged through his closet. Seungmin sat on his palms, holding back the urge to go over there and trace the faint scar lines with his mouth.

“I'd have to kidnap you.”

Seungmin blinked. “Huh?”

“You heard me. I'd throw you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carry you out of here in the night. I'd have horses waiting for us outside the castle. By the time your people even realized you're gone, we'd be too far away for them to find you.”

“Like a sack of potatoes,” Seungmin echoed, miffed by the comparison.

Changbin was grinning as he finished shrugging on a loose shirt and turned around. The expanse of his back was now tragically hidden, but there was a sliver of his chest still visible through the shirt's wide collar.

Clicking his tongue, Seungmin pushed himself to his feet and crossed the distance in a few strides.

“Cover up,” he grumbled, reaching past Changbin to hand him a vest.

“Yes, my prince.” The knight obeyed, sliding the vest onto his frame. “How does being kidnapped sound, then? Do I have your permission?”

“A kidnapping hardly happens with permission from the victim.”

Seungmin stepped back when Changbin's collarbones were properly covered. It was a loss to be mourned, but a necessary one. People at the castle already gawked at his knight enough as it was.

“Why would you go through all that trouble, anyway?” he asked, reaching up to idly fix Changbin's hair.

It was a stupid question, he realized when Changbin leaned into his touch, eyelids fluttering shut as a sigh whispered past his lips.

“It's no trouble,” Changbin replied, his voice low. “Not if it means we'd get to be together.”

Seungmin lowered his hand. He'd meant to step back, but for a moment his feet were nailed to the ground. Something unnameable closed its fist around the mouth of his stomach. He felt an unbearable pull to blurt out something insane, something he had not the words for.

His chest ached, sweet and despairing all at once.

“And if I do not wish to leave?”

Changbin watched him for a second, too knowing for Seungmin's comfort, but then he dipped his head in a nod.

“Then I would remain your Gilded Knight till the day I die.”

Seungmin finally stepped back. His fingers twitched with the impulse to reach for Changbin again—to find the warmth of his skin, the steadiness of his pulse. Instead he curled them into fists and hid their tremor behind himself.

He made his way back to his chambers through dusty secret corridors even his servants weren't aware of. Halfway through, his steps faltered, and he had to pause to force air into his lungs. He pressed a hand to his chest, nails digging into the fabric of his borrowed shirt.

Changbin's shirt.

Seungmin pulled the collar up to his nose, closing his eyes as he inhaled the lingering scent. A sense of relief trickled through his veins, easing the tension of his limbs.

My strength wanes, he thought where no one could see him. I don't know how much more I can take.

But there was no other Lightbringer. There was no other hope for his kingdom, and there was no other purpose to his life.

Wearing Changbin's shirt like a suit of armor, Seungmin made himself walk the rest of the way. By the time he'd made it to his bedchambers, there were already news of the Dawnborn Knights' next assignment. They were allowed to linger in the castle less and less.

Endure, Seungmin told himself. There was nothing else to be done, until the bells rang for Changbin's return once again.