Light sprints in frenzied flecks over the ceiling, resting for bare milliseconds over the King’s mullet, carved with paint and brushes into the mural encompassing all four walls of the ballroom. A fleck ricochets off one of the many floor-length windows spanning the Palace corridors, hurtling to a pause on the centre of Chanyeol’s nose. Joonmyun snickers as the boy’s eyes almost cross into their opposite sockets before nausea immediately makes him regret opening his eyes.

A lavish feast is laid down the centre of the exhibition, a glistening spectacle of mass consumerism and rioting corruption, feeding the capitalist gluttons seeking to expand the hidden girth beneath their cordial waistbands, Joonmyun can almost taste the oily sweetness of greed on the tip of his tongue. As a matter of self-preservation, or so he claims to Chanyeol (that sweet, gullible boy), he keeps his mouth clamped firmly shut, taking in the artwork, a commission of millions, that he has been invited to admire.

Governors like black spectres, the Emperor taking Court in iridescent robes, idealistic depictions of women dolled up to the nines, each bound to the arm of their pompous menfolk, the General unbridled out of his aviator’s costume, the Court Mage, frozen with her eyebrows irked in permanent irritation. Posing, collectively, as the Messiah of the people, their saviours from a terrible, inescapable, War.

Joonmyun turns and almost retches onto Minseok’s unimpressed face.

Thawed out of its impeccable mask, his cousin’s face splits into a grin of brilliant amusement.

“I cannot believe they invited you.”

Joonmyun snorts, attractively of course, “I’m a Warhorse, so are you. When the fat men get tired of bullting at you, they invite me. The unconventional one. The Novelty.”

Minseok preens, faking court vanity

“If was a  Warhorse, Joonmyun, you’d be the pack pony.” That earns him a sharp heeled boot to the ankle and Minseok yelps before backing away from Joonmyun on one foot. From where he’s standing by the table stuffing his face with food, Chanyeol stares blankly at their childish interaction.

“Anyway, to talk of more serious matters…” Joonmyun trails off as Minseok jerks his head sharply towards the balcony, allowing his face to fall into bland neutrality as he spins about on his heel, following his cousin toward the double doors.

The night air is cool, but as far as the Palace is from Nodame’s Hub, any wind blowing through is still tinted with the acrid scent of industrial chemicals. It gives Joonmyun a strange sense of satisfaction to think that, even if it is only such a miniscule thing, the Court is forced to some bitter remnants off the spoon with which they feed their own poison.

As soon as the latch swings closed behind them, Minseok grabs him by the shoulders with such urgency that even Joonmyun is taken aback. Before he can utter a word, Joonmyun feels himself being pushed into the nook of the walls, where the curtains veil their actions and hopefully provide their conversation with some semblance of privacy.

“You have to get out of this War, Joon” His cousin’s gaze is heavy and even as he opens his mouth to protest, Joonmyun realises that this is not information he’s been given lightly. It means that the King has been persuaded to increase the scale of warfare, that more resources will be poured into the effort to subjugate an enemy conjured out of paranoia and manipulation, that casualties will increase, that more lives would be at stake than ever before.

Joonmyun’s face must reflect his incredulity because Minseok leans in to hiss quietly, “The Mage summoned a meeting this morning, before the first guests began arriving.” He glances behind him warily before continuing: You were her apprentice and maybe you’ll understand what I mean when I say that there was no helping the King’s acquiescence. Her words, Joon. Maybe they were touched with magic but even I saw no way to resist. She was so convincing, it seemed like her argument was so sensible, so sound, I couldn’t -” Joonmyun shushes the older brother he’d always looked up to as a kid, letting the man slump tiredly against his shoulder.

Both men straighten to attention, making sure to stand a respectable distance apart as a knocks upon the glass, announcing in his foghorn voice,

“His Majesty invites the Wizard Howl to partake in his gracious presence.”

Joonmyun makes a show of checking his eardrums and Minseok whispers to him in a pained aside,

“Of all the names you could have taken, Howl?”

Joonmyun bristles with morbid embarrassment, “I was nine, hyung” he whines, “you’re never going to let that one go, are you?”

His cousin laughs, reaching out to snatch the glass of wine out of his hands.

“Nope, never.”

Joonmyun rolls his eyes before following the out of the ballroom, glancing back just in time to catch Minseok once again pull the persona of General Xiumin over his cold, disinterested features.

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Jongin stands snivelling in the centre of the room, eyes resolutely avoiding the bed upon which Jongdae lies, turning his face towards the carpet in an attempt to escape Kyungsoo’s furious gaze.

“This was the one and only rule I gave you to keep inside this House and you couldn’t follow it?!”

Jongin begins backing away, arms wrapped around his body in an attempt shrink in on himself and escape the murderous wrath with which Kyungsoo had armed himself. The moment he’d flung the partition open to find Jongin curled up behind it, sobbing heavily into his palms, Kyungsoo’s throat had closed up in terror.

What if the guest heard him?

What if the guest thinks the crying came from Jongdae?

What if this gets back to the Palace?

What if the King sends back the Trainers?

What if the guest had found Jongin?

Kyungsoo in a deep breath, rubbing a hand tiredly over his face before his knees give out and he sits down heavily on the bed. A hand smoothes out the creases on his forehead before pulling itself through his haphazard locks.

“Don’t blame him, Kyungsoo.” Jongdae’s voice cracks slightly and with effort, he flips himself onto his stomach, regarding them both with tired but twinkling eyes.

“We knew this would happen sooner or later. It’s a miracle we staved it off for as long as we did. The maids did a brilliant job of distracting him, too. We’ll have to thank them somehow.” Jongdae purses his lips, but smirks when he notices that Kyungsoo has been sufficiently derailed into considering more practical things.

With a groan, he pushes himself up before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. This catches Kyungsoo’s attention, who immediately wraps a firm arm around his waist, bearing the brunt of Jongdae’s weight against his shoulder. Despite everything, he still hisses softly as his legs take their first shaky step foward.

Kyungsoo calls for Jongin to run ahead and fill the bath and the boy turns obediently to do so, but not before running back to hug Jongdae tightly, pressing his little face into the robes above his stomach and whispering: “I’ll put a lot of Kyungsoo’s bubbles in this time!”

For the first time in a long time, Jongdae forgets about everything but the people around him and considers himself a lucky person.

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A/N: yes yes the title is a massive pun. you are all amazing people for putting up with me and my lapslock. as always, this is unbetaed and will be checked tomorrow morning. comments are and will always be love ♥ ♥ ♥