It's just beginning to be autumn but the morning is still dark and chill when Hongbin steps out into the castle courtyard, scuffling leaves from his path. Hakyeon is already waiting by the gate, and Hongbin nods to acknowledge his bow of greeting.

"You really don't have to be here, Highness," the steward says. His tone is deferential but Hongbin catches the suggestion in it; Hakyeon is never afraid to give his opinion. He shrugs, because of course he doesn't, most of his family wouldn't even deign to be awake at this hour and certainly not just to welcome a mere addition to their staff. But Hongbin happens to think a little interaction with the servants goes a long way.

It had been Hakyeon himself who'd impressed upon him the value of keeping his staff happy. Just over two years have passed since the day their previous steward, Bang Yongguk, had come to tell Hongbin that he'd been promoted to the main castle, was leaving within the week. Yongguk was stern but kind, rarely seen without a child from the castle toddling beside him with a small grubby grip on his fingers. There was always a treat from the kitchens in the steward's other hand for any other children he might meet on his rounds - or for the young prince, even though Hongbin is only three years his junior.

He had thought it only reasonable, then, to attend the meeting instating Yongguk's replacement, because who in all of Koryo could replace Yongguk? What he hadn't anticipated was his apparent incapacity for discretion, his arrival at the back of the servants' hall causing such a stir that he'd felt obligated to go down and greet the newcomer standing tall and graceful next to Yongguk's stocky figure. Cha Hakyeon's delighted grin had taken up his whole face and he'd almost forgotten to bow, nothing like Yongguk's sometimes stiff formality; on the fifth or six round of thank yous for having gone out of his way to come see the new steward, Hongbin had realized how small a thing it was, sometimes, to earn the goodwill of his people.

Learning names had been the first step, from Taekwoon the captain of the guard all the way down to Junhong the stable boy. But most important, Hongbin has found, is attending to their problems. It's such a simple matter, when Wonsik the blacksmith notes that they're running out of nails to shoe the horses, to pen a brief message to his mother at the main castle requesting more, and even when he can't do anything it helps just to lend an ear. He's always been a good listener, carefully rapt while Daehyun the butler blathers on about table settings and while Hakyeon complains about how much Daehyun talks instead of getting his work done.

And he listens, too, when Jaehwan the head cook asks for a leave of absence because his older brother's been thrown by a horse and needs someone to care for him. He sends Jaehwan off with a small purse so that his family can get a proper doctor, and Hakyeon relays a recommendation from Yongguk for a new cook, one Kim Himchan the older steward has apparently been friends with since childhood.

"Aish," Hakyeon huffs, drawing Hongbin out of his reverie and back into the crisp predawn air. "I don't know who this Himchan thinks he is, keeping royalty waiting." Hongbin just shrugs again, because there's no way the man can know the prince is among his greeting party.

Just as Hakyeon is starting to shift from foot to foot and grumble in earnest, there's the clatter of hoofbeats echoing off the roof tiles. Hakyeon swings the gate wide to let Sanghyuk, the farmer's boy who delivers their food from the local village, through. "Got a present for ya, Hakyeon," he says before noticing Hongbin and hastily doffing his cap, bow folding him almost in half in his seat. "Your Highness."

"Highness?" pipes a voice from the back of the cart as legs swing down and stamp off muddy boots. Their owner appears a second later, dressed in clothing much finer than those filthy shoes would have suggested.

"Prince Hongbin," Hakyeon says in the sharp tone he always uses when anyone other than himself fails to follow proper etiquette, "youngest child of King Hyoshin and part of the royal family of Koryo."

"Your Majesty," the man offers, and his bow is sufficiently deep but when he straightens back up he's grinning broad and mirthful. "Yongguk's told me so much about you, the cute dimpled princeling!" Hongbin can only nod, bewildered at the way Himchan - for surely it can be no one else - seems to light up the whole courtyard with his smile. He's got dimples of his own, the prince notices, right below the corners of his eyes, and Hongbin's used to the sight of his own cheeks in the castle's hazy mirrors, the creases in the chubby faces of the castle children, but he's never seen those little notches there before.

They flash again as Himchan turns to help Sanghyuk unload the cart. "Now, who's ready for breakfast?"

---

Hongbin tells himself, that first morning, that he follows Himchan into the kitchens merely to make sure he isn't going to kill them all, because in that getup he can't possibly know his way around a hearth. It would be the first mistake Hongbin's ever known Yongguk to make, but he's fairly certain the steward's sent them a lordling in fine bright clothes with fine pale skin and a fine flippant attitude, and he's probably going to burn the whole castle down.

But Himchan doesn’t, though Hongbin flinches every time he strikes flint to tinder. He bustles between table and fireplace with confidence, preparing ingredients and tossing them into the pot hanging over the flames. Hongbin’s torn between hovering at a safe distance from the reach of the knife Himchan is using to bone the fish Sanghyuk has brought them, and hovering close enough to make sure Himchan doesn’t hurt himself with it.

“Hungry, Highness?” Himchan grins when he notices. Hongbin realizes with a start and a grumble from his stomach that he is.

He half expects the rice to be still crunchy, the stew either bland or overseasoned, but they’re surprisingly edible - more than edible, Hongbin admits, though he doesn’t let himself think it might be the best saengseon jjigae he’s ever had. It likely only tastes so good because he’s been awake since before the sun without anything to eat.

Himchan smiles again, though, at the way Hongbin nods his head approvingly as he chews, and through the kitchen window dawn is beginning to break but Himchan is more luminous still.

---

Hongbin has a question to answer, which is why he returns to the kitchens later that same day for the midday meal. He merely wants to know if the morning was a fluke, if Himchan can only make jjigae or perhaps only got lucky even with that.

(Well. He might have two questions. The other might be whether Himchan is just as bright in full sunlight. But he only really wants to know what Himchan will cook this time.)

Himchan is making tteok, it seems, and there’s a smell of meat roasting in the air. He chuckles at the way Hongbin breathes deep, and Hongbin finds he doesn’t really even mind being laughed at when Himchan does it so kindly.

(The kitchen is clearly lit by the sun at its highest peak, but Himchan still, somehow, seems to glow.)

The tteok is tender and chewy, the roast perfectly cooked. Himchan chatters away as Hongbin eats, listing off recipes and menus and Hongbin ends up agreeing to try more than half a dozen dishes whose names he’s never heard before. Yongguk almost certainly wouldn’t send him a cook planning to poison him, after all.

(And, well, Himchan smiles again every time he inclines his head in acquiescence.)

---

Himchan doesn’t ask any questions when Hongbin takes his breakfast in the kitchens the next morning, too, nor any of the mornings after that. He simply pulls out a chair and sets a place next to Jongup and Hana, who usually eat later than most of the staff because they’re assigned the nightwatch shift, and somehow when he fills the plate it’s always with Hongbin’s favorite foods. When he notices, one day, Hongbin sloshing his danpatjuk around the bowl with his spoon more than eating it, he swaps it for a hastily prepared bowl of kimchi and rice and never serves him a sweet breakfast again.

And Himchan serves him many breakfasts. Hongbin can’t eat every meal at the long trestle table in front of the pots bubbling away in the big hearth, usually obliged to entertain visitors to the castle during the day, but most mornings he finds the time to sneak down to the kitchens even if it’s just to grab a pastry and listen to the menu Himchan has planned for dinner. On the mornings he doesn’t, there’s always a small parcel of portable foodstuffs waiting when he arrives to his first task of the day, and Hongbin always wonders how Himchan could possibly know where he’s going to be. He wouldn’t be surprised if he and Hakyeon were plotting to keep him well-fed.

Himchan doesn’t ask any questions, but the rest of the castlefolk have no such reservations. Since they’ve begun to accept their quiet attentive prince as a fixture in their daily lives, Hongbin has stumbled across many a gossiping conversation as the staff go about their business.

This time (as often happens), it’s Daehyun’s voice ringing across the dining room as he and Sunhwa set the tables for the communal evening meal, “Our prince has taken quite an interest in the new cook.” Daehyun’s never learned to speak quietly.

Sunhwa’s reply is fainter but still intelligible. “Maybe he’s just glad to have someone reliable in the kitchens. Jaehwan was competent, but you know he could get…imaginative.”

“Sweet bean squid,” Daehyun says, and Hongbin represses the urge to gag at the memory of that particular experiment.

Their talk turns to more of Jaehwan’s creations and Hongbin continues on his way to the clerk’s office, but there’s a niggling thought in the back of his mind that begins to wonder why exactly it is that he’s so drawn to Himchan.

Youngjae the bookkeeper is more than happy to provide him with pen and paper after they’ve finished poring over the accounts, and Hongbin sits down to draft a letter to his elder sister at the main castle. Hyosung must be busy with her constant training and preparation to take the throne, but perhaps she has a moment to spare to ask Yongguk more about his childhood friend.

---

Even the fastest horses can’t make the trip to the main castle in less than a week, so her reply hasn’t yet come a few days later when Himchan turns from where he’s pounding out rice dough and asks, “Would you like to try?”

There’s a beat while Hongbin actually looks around the kitchen to see whom Himchan might be addressing, before he finally meets Himchan’s eyes and points to himself, questioning. “Yes, you, Highness,” Himchan chuckles. “You look bored.”

Hongbin’s not certain it’s possible to ever be bored watching Himchan, the grace and efficiency of his movements and the path of brightness he seems to trace all across the kitchen, but his father has always said that there’s no trade in life not worth learning, so he rises and goes to stand by the counter.

As it turns out, Himchan has much to teach. Hongbin leaves the kitchens that morning with sore arms and rice flour in his hair, and he has to take a second bath before he welcomes the next round of petitioners to the hearing room. But the next day, when Himchan turns from the fireplace with a ladle in his hand and raises inquisitive brows, he doesn’t even need to speak for Hongbin to come see what the lesson is here.

Himchan chats while he works, always. As Hongbin learns more about the workings of the kitchen and requires less and less explanation, Himchan’s talk turns with greater frequency to himself. “I miss Yongguk sometimes,” he offers one day out of the blue. When Hongbin turns to him and tilts his head to the side Himchan chuckles. “Don’t worry, Highness, I’m not leaving before Jaehwan returns.”

But you’ll leave when the time comes? Hongbin doesn’t ask.

There are many other things he doesn’t ask as well, because Himchan talks for both of them and Hongbin doesn’t have the words anyway. Himchan becomes adept at phrasing his speech in ways that Hongbin can respond to mostly with nods and shakes of his head, face twisting as he tries to express what he wants to say.

Hongbin’s always had questions left unanswered, but never so many. What is your family like? Do you have siblings? Do you miss them?

Hongbin’s always had questions, but never ones he’s wanted answered so badly.

Do you like it here?

---

He wonders, as he turns the parchment over and over in his hands, whether Himchan can possibly know how important that question is to Hongbin, because Hongbin would very much like him to be happy here. No one but Yongguk and Hakyeon has adjusted so easily to Hongbin, has even truly bothered to try. The other staff are deferential and courteous and even friendly, but Hongbin’s always had the vague feeling he’s most often being talked at rather than talked to. Himchan, though he speaks constantly, always litters his words with enough pauses that Hongbin can respond, if he wants to. It’s…nice.

He looks back down at Hyosung’s letter, which Sanghyuk had finally brought with the day’s groceries that morning. It’s short and apologetic, for both the lateness and the brevity of her reply, and Hongbin doesn’t feel entirely reassured having read it. There’s very little to be known about Himchan, it seems, even as told by his best friend.

He just appeared one day, she’s written, they found him as a child in a flower bush in the castle gardens. I told Yongguk to be serious but he swears up and down it’s true. I think he’s joking with me, Hongbinah! Our stoic Yongguk telling tales, can you believe it?

Hongbin folds the letter into his pocket as he enters the kitchen. Himchan looks up from the stoves, cheeks rosy, and waves with dainty fingers, and Hongbin thinks that yes, he might just believe it.

Today Himchan is teaching him to make jjigae; Hongbin’s attempts are passable, but try as he might they’ll never measure up to the delicious stews that Himchan produces seemingly without effort. Himchan just has the magic touch.

“It’s all right, Highness,” Himchan giggles. “You’re the only one among my friends who doesn’t leave me with more work to do after you’re finished, so you’ll get there eventually.”

You’re my friend. Maybe the most important question has already been answered.

----------------

Author's Note: Look forward to the second half soon!