Junmyeon was late for dinner, and Yixing was having a hard time not being bothered by that.  

It wasn’t anything the advisor wasn’t used to. Junmyeon was perpetually late, usually with his attention given to mischievous acts instead of actual scheduled appointments. When Yixing wasn’t around to keep him on schedule, he was prone to be forgetful, so his absence wasn’t a sudden change. This was Junmyeon being himself.

Yet Yixing was a little more aware of it than he should have been, after that discussion in the library, and the dejected look Junmyeon had worn as he left. The dejected look that Yixing knew he had caused. He knew the other had been wounded by Yixing’s refusal to call him by name, but that didn’t make Yixing’s stance any less important. Still, it made him anxious that Junmyeon had not shown his face since that exchange.

But he wasn’t worried. Not at all. Junmyeon would show up. And until then, he had enough distractions in the dining hall to keep his mind preoccupied. Namely, watching the different interactions around him as he waited.

For instance, he was currently watching Yifan try to defend his ever-shrinking dignity in front of a relentless Chanyeol and Zitao, which was highly amusing.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Chanyeol’s deep baritone rang out, as he scooped yet another forkful of food into his mouth. “FanFan is a perfectly lovable name.”

“It is not my name,” Yifan argue, scowling at his plate. “No one has called me that in years, and I plan to keep it that way.”

“But nicknames are supposed to be used,” Chanyeol countered. “That is why Junmyeon gave you such a precious name.”

“It is a childhood nickname,” Yifan corrected, crossing his arms over his chest. “And despite what nonsense Yixing has been telling you, I am not a child. I will not answer to such names.”

“Aw, but FanFan,” Zitao chimed in with a whine, jutting out his lip in such a comical show of disapproval that Yixing outright snorted. Zitao, for as fierce as he was in battle, behaved much like a five-year old off the field.

“Stop it,” Yifan snapped, reaching out to swat at Zitao’s arm, who nearly toppled over in peals of laughter. Oh yes, Yixing thought. The young guard was enjoying this.

“It does roll off the tongue rather well,” Chanyeol continued, smirking around his food. “Lord FanFan. It’s nice, right?”

Yifan spared a glare at Yixing, eyes narrowed into sharp points. “You just have to make my life miserable, yes? You could not just let things lie.”

Yixing raised his hands in defense, shrugging with a smirk. “I am merely repaying the favor.”

It was the least he could do after Yifan had so graciously told Kyungsoo of his and Junmyeon’s nicknames and singing habits. While he had expected it was Yifan all along, seeing as the man was the only one who truly knew of such things, when the young lord had had the audacity to gloat about the exchange of information, Yixing could not let it go. And the childhood nickname had been far too delectable a detail to ignore. He would gladly have Yifan angry at him if it meant he could sit back and let others do the teasing.

Zitao certainly enjoyed it, though he could see the younger man reach out from time to time to touch Yifan’s shoulder or arm, pacifying the young lord somewhat.

Yixing was surprised that more people had not joined in on the teasing, but Kyungsoo had turned his attention to an exhausted Jongin, the gardener tired from the day's work. Even Chanyeol was only half paying attention, eyes searching for a certain tailor. What shocked him the most, however, was Jongdae’s withdrawal from the group.

The stable hand had come in a little while ago, walking straight to the farest table and downing half of a bottle of wine in one go, the dark red liquid escaping his lips on one side and leaving a stain on the man’s white shirt from where it dripped down from his chin. A headache, he had used as an excuse when the others tried to coax him over to their table, and when he continued to refuse them, they stopped asking. But Yixing had kept an eye on him, watching the man’s shoulders growing increasingly slumped, watching one bottle of wine turn to two.

It wasn’t like Jongdae to do this. He wasn’t much of a drinker, and even when he was, it wasn’t more than he could handle. The shake of his hands as he took another swig from the bottle was enough for Yixing to think there was more going on than a mere headache.

Chanyeol’s ecstatic greeting to Baekhyun pulled him from his thoughts momentarily, watching as the taller guard scooted over to give Baekhyun room to sit with them. The smaller man took the seat with a bright smile, immediately diving into discussing his latest project as Chanyeol listened with rapt attention. With the appearance of the tailor, almost everyone was there, save Sehun - who was undoubtedly visiting Luhan - and Xiumin. And, of course, Junmyeon.

When Jongdae finished the second bottle and began to eye a third, Yixing excused himself from the table and walked over. Jongdae may not be his charge, but he wasn’t going to sit by and let the man poison himself with alcohol.

“Jongdae?” Yixing called out as he approached, and the stable hand ducked his head further down, hiding his face. He had barely looked up all evening, Yixing noted as he settled on the bench next to him. “Do you not think you have had enough for tonight?”

“‘S not working,” Jongdae muttered.

“What is not working?” the advisor asked, and he watched the rueful way Jongdae’s lips curled up, forming a warped grin. “The wine?”

“My smile,” he said softly, turning the bottle up again. “‘S not working like it should. I still hurt.”

The advisor reached out to wrap a hand around the neck of the bottle, determining Jongdae probably shouldn’t consume any more wine tonight. Jongdae didn’t fight the bottle being tugged from his hands, but he didn’t look up, either.

“Alright. What is going on?”

“Jus’ a headache,” he slurred, and Yixing watched him swipe a hand through his hair, over the back of his neck, before letting that hand land on the table once more with a clumsy thump.

“Do you have any other pain?” Yixing asked, touching the man’s shoulder. He nearly drew his hand away, feeling the tremors in the other’s frame, and his frown deepened. Something was definitely wrong.

He looked around again, his thoughts going to Xiumin. The man had always stuck close to Jongdae, but he wasn’t here for dinner. “I have not seen Xiumin tonight. Is he sick again? Perhaps you have caught the same illness?”

At the mention of Xiumin, Jongdae reached for the bottle again, looking up with such a lost expression that Yixing gasped. The man was crying, tears leaving hot trails down his face and the skin around his eyes an angry, swollen pink. Yixing kept the bottle from him, reaching out to steady him when he teetered on the bench.

“Jongdae, stop this,” Yixing ordered gently, grabbing the man’s shoulders once the bottle was set to the side, out of the stable hand’s reach. “What has gotten into you? Why are you crying?”

“Gone,” Jongdae whispered, his eyes unfocused as he looked at Yixing. “He’s gone. And I… I did nothin’.”

“Who is gone?” Yixing asked, brows drawn together in confusion. “Xiumin?”

Jongdae shook his head sharply, biting his lip. “Not Xiumin. Minseok.”

Yixing didn’t understand. He had never heard of a Minseok, at least not living. There were a few in the royal line that had bore the name, but not one he had ever met in person. Yet Jongdae continued to whisper the name and mumble about the man being gone, his words and actions badly slurred.

Before he could question it further, the voices of Yifan and Kyungsoo behind him regained his attention, particularly when his name was suddenly being thrown into their conversation.

“As revengeful as he is, at least Yixing does not assign us such ridiculous assignments,” Yifan huffed. “This latest one is difficult, even for you, Kyungsoo.”

Kyungsoo snorted at the words. “It would not be if you actually listened to my lessons.”

“But what you have given us is impossible,” Yifan argued, and Yixing turned just in time to watch Kyungsoo roll his eyes, his hand resting on Jongin’s lower back even as he looked over at Yifan.

“It is not. Junmyeon turned his in just today, and he had no trouble at all.”

Yixing straightened, chuckling a little at Yifan’s skeptical look and unable to keep from chiming in. “I beg to differ,” he called out, gaining Kyungsoo’s attention. “He came to me for help on the assignment. The curse you gave them to solve was very challenging.”

“Curse?” Kyungsoo questioned, shaking his head. “I did not assign a curse. Their lesson was on the economic failings of the Kang Kingdom.”

Yixing paused, taken aback by the words. Something cold settled in his gut, because that was not what he had been told. Junmyeon had given him nothing on the Kang Kingdom, only asking about the bloodline curse he had on that piece of parchment. Why would Junmyeon, of all people, lie to him about something as mundane as a history lesson?

“That is not what he showed me,” he said softly, and Jongdae’s soft whine at his side drew his attention once more.

“Minseok’s curse,” Jongdae muttered, holding his head as a silent sob racked his body. “‘Twas Minseok’s curse.”

He looked up at Yixing with tears in his eyes, shaking his head as he reached out to grab his hand, as if trying to convey just how much he meant what he said. “We shoulda told you. Only Jun and I… We shoulda told you ‘bout Seok.”

Yixing leaned forward, forcing Jongdae to look at him. “Who is Minseok?”

Jongdae choked out another sob, letting his head drop. “Xiumin. He’s Minseok. Junmyeon’s brother.”

It all clicked slowly into Yixing’s mind, the words echoing around in his skull. He had known of the death of another child before Junmyeon, but here Jongdae was, claiming he was not dead, but was Xiumin. And that he was cursed. The curse Junmyeon had been so adamant to break.

But he couldn’t break it, Yixing reminded himself. A man cannot change his blood.

The answer hit Yixing in the gut like a fist, knocking the air clear out of his lungs as he realized exactly what Junmyeon had concluded earlier. No, if this were indeed Minseok, and this was his curse, he couldn’t get out of it because it was targeting him by his blood. But Junmyeon shared that blood.

And Junmyeon was still not at dinner.

He jolted from his spot, nearly knocking Jongdae over in the process as he rushed to the door. The others called out to him, asking what was wrong, but he couldn’t breathe, let alone answer them. Because he knew what Junmyeon would do.

He skidded to a halt in the hall, glancing in both directions as he took in harsh breaths. Where would he be? The stables? The bed chambers? He forced his mind to slow down, to recall the lines of the curse. There was something there, he knew. There had to be.

There had been something about a needle.

With quick steps, he turned in the direction of Baekhyun’s room. It was the only place he could think of that would have such a thing, and he knew if Junmyeon could figure out the loophole, he could figure out the needle. He just hoped the man had been delayed enough in his conclusions that he could still stop him.

Yixing reached the room in record time, pushing through the door with the prince’s name already on his lips, ready to be called out.

But his eyes didn’t find Junmyeon in the room. There was no sign of the prince at all. Instead he found Xiumin, Minseok, lying on the floor by the wall.

And his back was covered in burns.

The man was whimpering and gasping, writhing in pain even as he tried to avoid aggravating his wounds further, and Yixing approached him quickly. He didn’t touch him, afraid to cause any more pain to the man, but kneeled by his side, shushing him quietly.

“Minseok,” he spoke, low but firm. “Minseok, where is Junmyeon?”

The man jolted, as if just realizing Yixing were there, and looked up with glazed eyes as his cry turned sharper at the movement. But the agony in his features ran far deeper than physical wounds, and Yixing’s heart stopped as Minseok looked to the side, his hand reaching for something before , his head shaking. Yixing followed the gaze, his breath catching at the sight of the spinning wheel - the spindle.

“The curse,” Minseok croaked, and Yixing’s mind filled with the words he had just read earlier that day. Words of revenge. Words of death. And it was meant for this man who lay before him.

Minseok was still alive, despite the curse’s dark promise. And Junmyeon was not in the room, nowhere to be seen. Did that mean..?

Yixing felt faint, planting a hand against the floor to hold himself up as his heartbeat quickened, but hastily shook his head to get rid of those thoughts. No. Junmyeon could not be gone. He couldn’t. He had to still be alive.

A whimper from Minseok reminded Yixing of the other’s presence, and he turned his attention back to the injured man. Would Minseok know? He had been there, right?

“Is he alive?” Yixing whispered, his voice breaking. “Minseok, is Junmyeon alive?”

“I don’t know,” Minseok sobbed, biting his lip against another surge of pain. “The curse… Junmyeon, he -”

Yixing clutched at the front of his shirt, feeling his chest ache at the words. But before he could give into his own agony, Minseok was speaking once more.

“He took him,” Minseok whined, shaking his head again as he cried, from pain or sorrow or maybe a mixture of both, Yixing wasn’t sure. “He took Junmyeon.”

“Who took him?” Yixing demanded, and when the other didn’t respond, his head drooping and on the verge of unconsciousness, the advisor asked again, reaching out to cover Minseok’s hand with his own, trying to anchor him. “Minseok, please. Who took him?”

Minseok gasped again, groaning as he pressed his cheek to the floor, but he opened his eyes to look at Yixing, a few large tears escaping as he did.

“Crow,” he whispered.

Yixing knew that name. Had read it in multiple accounts of the Nightshade Rebellion, accounts of a very powerful man - a sorcerer - who had originally been Heizhu, a Royal Advisor to Minki, and had fled the kingdom during the uprising. The sound of his name aloud, and tied in with Junmyeon, had a shiver running down his spine.

“Where?” Yixing asked, and Minseok let out a pained breath.

“My back,” he whimpered, and Yixing squeezed his hand with a sigh. He didn’t know where this Crow was, but he wasn’t here, and he had left Minseok behind. How long had Minseok laid on the floor? He couldn’t imagine how much pain the other was in, but it was far too much to question him now, it seemed.

“We are going to get you help,” Yixing assured, and Minseok shook his head with a groan.

“No, Yixing, my back,” Minseok said again, breathless as he closed his eyes, but Yixing didn’t have time to respond.

The sound of footsteps approaching had Yixing looking up, and he watched as Jongdae appeared in the doorway. Though still drunk, his cheeks flushed from alcohol and his body slightly wobbling, his eyes were clearer, sharper than they had been in the dining hall. The stress of the situation had served to sober him up, at least a little bit. But his emotions remained as messy as they had been in the dining hall.

He took one look at Minseok and burst, the cry that left him both relieved and horrified. But he paled at the sight of the man’s back, covering his mouth with his hand.

“Oh, God, Minseok,” he said breathlessly, staggering forward and sinking to his knees on the other side of the man.

Minseok had jerked again at the sound of the other’s voice, and he gritted his teeth around another groan, eyes squeezing shut as he waited for the pain to pass, his chest heaving with each ragged breath he took.

Jongdae’s hand hovered over the man’s back, the skin exposed and burned with the tattered remains of his shirt laying loosely around him. Like Yixing, he didn’t touch the wounds, but instead dropped his hand to Minseok’s hair, brushing it from his face quietly.

“What has he done to you?” he whispered, and Yixing took a closer look at the man’s injuries.

The burns in Minseok’s back were an angry red, the skin around it blistered from heat and swollen, pulled tight across his shoulder blades and ribs. The lines were deep - deep enough to scar, Yixing realized - but relatively clean. A sign that the lines were done by magic and not by any natural source of heat. But as Yixing continued to look, he began to see what looked like patterns. Familiar patterns that he had seen time and time again, though on Minseok’s skin they were slightly distorted. Yixing knew, however, that the lines would heal, and the scars left behind would be much more distinguishable.

The words Minseok had said earlier about his back suddenly came to mind in a sickening realization. He hadn’t been commenting on the pain. He had been trying to address the lines themselves. Or what they created on his skin.

Jongdae must have noticed as well, a sharp gasp leaving his throat. “Is that..?”

Yixing swallowed thickly, nodding. “A map, it seems.” He glanced at Jongdae in horror, watching as the man paled even further. “A map leading to Junmyeon.”

Yixing had never, ever, felt more powerless than he did in that very moment. He fought his emotions, fighting the temptation to let go of all rationality and go after Junmyeon or break down and cry.

But he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t. He had to get Minseok to his father, and then he had to alert Junmyeon’s parents…

Oh, God, Junmyeon’s parents.

Tears pooled in Jongdae’s eyes as he looked back down at Minseok, his hand continuing to run through the man’s sweat-slicked hair. “He’s in so much pain,” Jongdae whispered, his hands shaking with another swipe over Minseok’s forehead.

Yixing grimaced, because he knew Minseok was in serious danger with such severe wounds. He reached forward, tucking his fingers underneath the man’s shoulder. They could try to move him. Take him to his father. It would be a straight shot, more or less, the castle’s design allowing the medic’s room to be in a central location that all hallways lead to one way or another. But even the smallest of movements proved agonizing to Minseok, who yelped at Yixing’s actions and the pull it caused on his injuries. His breathing was rapid, shallow, and the man struggled to keep his eyes open and focused. The pain was becoming too much.

Jongdae had leaned forward at the cry, shushing the man as he pressed a kiss to the cheek, whispering words of comfort into his ear. The effect was calming on Minseok, and as Yixing watched the exchange between the two - now confirmed in his mind as something much more than friends - he made a decision.

“Jongdae,” he spoke in a low voice, and when the stable hand looked up, he squared his jaw. “We must get him to my father.”

Jongdae seemed torn at the idea, looking at the burns with a skeptical eye. “His wounds…”

“Are in need of serious medical attention,” Yixing cut in gently, shaking his head. “He is going to be in a great deal of pain, yes, but the faster we can get him there, the faster he can begin treatment. There is little my father can do for him here.”

Jongdae bit his lip hard, still not convinced.

“You will be able to keep him calm,” Yixing assured. “I know you will. He responds well to you. And we are going to need to keep him as calm as possible, lest the stress worsen his state. But we must act.”

“Alright,” Jongdae whispered, giving a stiff nod. “Alright, let’s do this quickly.”

They moved carefully, pulling Minseok up between them as gently as they could with his arms around their shoulders, but Minseok began to wail before they even got his feet underneath him. Jongdae looked distraught as he tried to soothe the man, murmuring words of assurance to him as he fought back his own tears. It quieted the older man slightly, but then they were walking.

And Minseok couldn’t help his cries. Each step was excruciating, the man’s legs giving with each movement forward as the two men assisted him through the door, down the hall in the direction of Guozhi’s room. Jongdae did his best to keep the man grounded, but there was only so much to be done, and Yixing’s heart ached at the sobs that worked out of Minseok’s throat.

“Hurts,” Minseok whimpered, his groan breaking off into a sob as he nearly lost his footing again. Yixing could feel the man’s hand the fabric of his shirt, tugging the cloth tight around his shoulder as he tried to hold back his emotions.

“I know,” Jongdae whispered back, keeping his eyes forward though Yixing knew he was breaking. “I know. But just a little longer, Seok. Just hold on a little longer.”

They only made it halfway before Minseok’s body could no longer stand the pain. With a final grunt, Minseok’s body went limp, and the gasp that Jongdae let out reverberated through Minseok and into Yixing’s chest with its intensity.

“Minseok,” the stable hand hissed, and Yixing took the moment to stop, an arm coming to rest around the man’s lower back, dangerously close to the burns as he reached up to press his fingers into the man’s neck, underneath his jaw. There. The man’s pulse was still there.

“He is fine,” he said quickly, struggling to hold the man up as Jongdae began to panic at his other side. “Jongdae, he is alright. The pain has just rendered him unconscious. He will regain it soon.”

Jongdae cursed under his breath, dropping his head as he forced himself to breathe. “What do we do, Yixing? We can’t carry him like this.”

And Yixing knew he was right, because even as they stood there, the deadweight of Minseok’s unconscious form was nearly dragging them both down. He couldn’t get a good grip on the other’s waist for fear of agitating the man’s injuries, and he knew Jongdae was nearly hysterical with his own worry, only worsened by the alcohol that still buzzed in his veins.

With a stiff grunt, he pushed himself in front of Minseok, pulling his arm over his chest and leaning forward, heaving the man up onto his back. The weight was more than he expected, and he faltered in his step before finding his balance. Jongdae began to protest, trying to take some of the burden, but Yixing pushed him away gently.

“Yixing,” Jongdae started, but Yixing shook his head with finality.

“I will carry him.”

“I’m stronger,” Jongdae countered immediately, and Yixing was not above admitting that.

“Yes,” he agreed, his breathing shorter with Minseok pressing down on his shoulders, “but with your current state of intoxication, it is best I carry him. We do not want to make his injuries worse.”

Yixing shifted, hoisting Minseok a little higher. “Go on ahead. I will catch up.”

Jongdae paused at that, mouth working around words that wouldn’t come out as he glanced at Minseok’s still form on Yixing’s back. He seemed absolutely torn between staying by Minseok’s side and trying to find help, but Yixing made the decision for him.

“Jongdae, go.”

The stable hand jumped to action at the order, disappearing off down the hall at a speed Yixing wished he could achieve at the moment. But with Minseok on his back, his steps were slower, heavier.

As Yixing reached his father’s hall, the sound of rushed footsteps reached his ears, and he looked up to see Jongdae hurrying back towards him, Chanyeol and Zitao in tow.

Out of all the people they could have found to help, Yixing was thankful it was them. The hallways had been unusually quiet, the staff still recovering from the festivities a few nights prior and therefore not lingering in the halls for longer than necessary. The only ones who seemed to frequent the the halls were the guards, and after having seen them in the dining room earlier, he would not have been surprised if they had gone to their duty earlier tonight, after Yixing’s dramatic exit.

But regardless of how they got there, they were there now, and Yixing sent the trio a strained smile as they neared.

Chanyeol reached him first, stepping forward to ease Minseok from Yixing’s shoulders and onto his own. The guard lifted him with hardly any trouble, already moving towards the door as Yixing quickened his steps to keep up, stumbling a little at the sudden lack of Minseok’s weight.

“God, what is on his back?” Zitao asked in a gasp, and Yixing chose not to answer the younger man, teeth clenched as a lump formed in his throat. Yixing could feel the weight of Chanyeol's gaze as he shot him a look, but he kept his eyes forward, ushering them inside quietly.

His father was categorizing medicinal herbs when they arrived at his door, his warm smile falling at the sight of Minseok slung over Chanyeol’s shoulders. His eyes found his son’s quickly, took in the look of utter distress on his features, and he jumped into action.

“Get him to the cot, in the corner,” Guozhi instructed, and Chanyeol did as he was told, crossing the room easily to the cot the older man had indicated. He lowered Minseok to lie on his stomach, his injured back on full display as the remainder of his shirt was removed. From years of treating everything from minor illness to ghastly injuries, Guozhi didn’t flinch at all at the sight of the burns, quickly going to his shelves to pull out a number of ointments and bandages. He deposited them by the bed before grabbing the nearest basin of water and a towel to clean the wounds.

“What happened?” he questioned as he settled himself at Minseok's side, observing the man's back. “These burns are peculiar.”

Jongdae took a seat at the head of the cot and refused to move as Chanyeol and Zitao stepped aside, afraid to get in the way but hesitant to put too much distance between them and Minseok. Chanyeol was taking this all quietly, hardly grimacing as Guozhi began his task. Zitao, on the other hand, looked ashen and tearful, and had to turn his eyes to the far wall to keep his wits about him.

Yixing was the one who answered when no one spoke up, the words delivered without infliction as he leaned against the wall by the bed.

“He was attacked by a sorcerer.”

“There are no sorcerers in the kingdom,” his father responded with a frown, wringing the towel out in the basin and carefully cleaning the burns and surrounding skin. “Not since the Nightshade Rebellion.”

“I have heard of this one,” Yixing offered, eyes following his father’s hands, watching the man swipe large amounts of a pale ointment over the burned skin once the area was cleaned. “Minseok called him Crow.”

His father hesitated, hands hovering over Minseok’s back.

“Crow,” his father repeated, the word quiet and full of disbelief.

“Minseok?” Chanyeol interjected, his voice painted in confusion. “Don’t you mean Xiumin?”

“No,” Yixing refuted. “I meant Minseok. This man’s name is not Xiumin as we were told, but Kim Minseok.”

He was sure that answer only served to confuse Chanyeol more, but Yixing did not spare the guard a glance. He was too busy observing his father’s reaction, watching how the older man looked up with wide eyes before glancing back down to the unconscious man.

“The prince,” his father whispered, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. “He survived the curse, after all.”

Yixing closed his eyes, a sharp breath entering his lungs, because of course his father knew. And he wanted to feel angry at that, being left in the dark on such an important matter, but he didn’t have time to feel anything as his heart dropped into his stomach with his father’s words, worry clawing at the back of his throat.

“Yes,” Yixing said, meeting his father’s gaze. “He survived.”

“What are you talking about?” Chanyeol demanded, tired of being ignored and frustrated with the situation, and Yixing let his eyes sweep over to the tall guard. “Someone tell me what the is going on.”

“This is Junmyeon’s brother,” Jongdae said softly, gaining the attention of the others. “He has been in hiding, bearing a curse that should have killed him today, on his twenty-fourth birthday.”

“But it didn’t,” Zitao stated carefully, glancing at Yixing.

“No,” Yixing agreed, taking a deep breath. “Because Junmyeon took the curse on himself.”

The captain tensed at the words, eyes snapping to Yixing’s form. “If Junmyeon took the curse, then… He can’t be…”

Chanyeol swore under his breath, turning to scrub at his face as he lost his words. Zitao looked away, jaw working around emotions he refused to voice, and the rest of the room was cast into silence by their fear.

“Yixing?” Chanyeol called urgently, looking back up at the advisor, looking for answers that Yixing just did not have, and Yixing sent him a pained look in return, hands running down the length of his pants nervously. No, he didn’t know if Junmyeon were alive. But he feared the worst.

Guozhi broke the quiet, clearing his throat as he turned back to Minseok’s burns.

“The burns are a map, correct?”

Yixing nodded weakly, having figured his father would notice the structured lines. “Yes. It apparently leads to Junmyeon.”

“Then he is alive?” Chanyeol asked, hope in his voice, albeit small, but still Yixing did not answer.

“We will need to call a council,” Guozhi continued, slipping into a professional tone as he continued to work. This was where Yixing got his composure, it seemed, the only sign that Guozhi was affected being the slight shake in his hands. He was hiding his thoughts well, even if his body betrayed his emotions. “We will have to make a copy of this map to show them.”

The sound of a soft moan had everyone in the room freezing, all eyes turning to Minseok. The man’s face had scrunched up in pain, and Jongdae reached out quickly, soothing the skin of his neck.

“He is waking,” Jongdae said in a hushed tone, and Yixing winced, because even if it were a good sign that Minseok was coming to once again, the pain he would be in during his treatment would be severe, now that touch was a necessity. The doctor was only halfway through.

His father followed his thoughts, it seemed. “Chanyeol, Zitao,” Guozhi called, beckoning the guards closer, “I will need you to hold him still while I finish my work.”

He looked towards the stable hand with a firm nod. “Jongdae, can you keep him calm?”

“I can try,” Jongdae answered as the guards positioned themselves on either side of the cot, grimly grabbing a hold of Minseok’s arms.

Minseok was rapidly regaining consciousness, shifting on the cot and whimpering at the movement. Yixing remembered the sting that accompanied most of his father’s ointments, grimacing as he watched his father reach out to rub another layer of the cream across the other’s back.

The man nearly bucked off the cot, arching away from the touch with a choked cry, and Chanyeol and Zitao leaned forward, putting more weight into holding the other down. Jongdae was quick to hush the pained man, speaking soft words that Yixing could not make out over the sound of Minseok’s ragged breathing.

“Father,” Yixing called, standing helplessly by the wall. “What do you need me to do?”

He couldn’t stand here and do nothing, watching Minseok writhe as the others buzzed around him. He needed a task, a distraction. Anything.

“Go alert the others,” Guozhi ordered, another helping of ointment leaving Minseok shuddering. “The council should be called quickly.”

“But Minseok…” Yixing spoke, and his father sent him a glance over his shoulder. His eyes were full of concern as he found Yixing’s form, but the advisor realized it was meant for him, and not for the man Guozhi was treating.

“There is nothing for you to do here. Minseok will be alright,” he assured, “but we must act in haste if we wish to save Junmyeon as well.”

Yixing knew his father had meant that as motivation to move, but at the moment it felt more like a knife to the gut. But he nodded, moving towards the door and trying hard to ignore the sound of Minseok’s cries getting louder with every touch.

He made it out into the hall before his legs buckled underneath him, and he caught himself on the wall before sliding down to sit in the floor.

Yixing held his head in his hands, willing himself to get back up. He had to keep going. He had to go find the king and the queen, and the rest of the council. He had to go tell them what happened, and he knew Junmyeon’s life depended on him doing this. The sooner he found the others, the sooner they could form a plan to get him back.

But what if they were already too late?

Crow had taken Junmyeon, and while the rational side of Yixing was reluctant to believe a sorcerer would go through the trouble of taking a dead prince, there was still the possibility. The sorcerer could be playing with them, stringing them along with hope before crushing it all again when they discovered Junmyeon had succumbed to the curse. But on the other hand, if Junmyeon were alive, and they did not go to his aid…

Yixing buried his face in his hands, breathing harshly as he tried to hold his emotions back. But it was so hard to do so when he knew nothing about how Junmyeon was, or whether or not he would ever see him again. And his last conversation had given Junmyeon that final bit of information he needed, helping him find the loophole in the curse. Had he known what he was going to do, then? Had he already made up his mind?

The image of Junmyeon standing in the doorway of the library flashed behind his eyes, and he nearly lost it, because he had asked Yixing to call him by his name. He had asked, knowing it would be his last time, and Yixing had refused. Junmyeon had looked so hurt, and he had assumed it was only because Junmyeon wanted their friendship to be as it was before. But now Yixing knew better.

That had been Yixing’s last chance. And he had thrown it away without realizing what he would lose.

He didn’t know how long he sat there before he felt hands on his arms, pulling him up.

“Yixing?” the deep, familiar voice called, and Yixing looked up to see Yifan in front of him. The man must have come looking for them after dinner. “Yixing, are you alright? Why are you out here?”

The sound of Minseok’s yells cut through the hall then, and Yixing watched as Yifan’s face paled, glancing towards the door that led to Guozhi’s room.

“Who is Guozhi treating?” Yifan asked, and Yixing watched the man grow more urgent. “Is… Is it Junmyeon?”

For a brief, selfish moment, Yixing almost wished it were. He wished Junmyeon had been the one left behind, Minseok taken by the sorcerer. He wished Junmyeon had not made it in time to take on the curse. And that wish had Yixing’s stomach turning, bile rising in his throat, because no one deserved to go through such pain.

And yet, Junmyeon had.

“Xiumin,” Yixing responded quietly, pushing the dark thoughts away. “But he is not who you think he is.”

Tears blurred Yixing’s vision as he shook his head, his words cracking around the edges as he told Yifan all that he knew, which was hardly anything at all. The words kept coming, about Minseok and the curse, about Junmyeon and Crow, about the map seared into Minseok’s back, and his task of finding the others for the council, because it was the only way they could find Junmyeon. And Yixing could see the words had not connected in the man’s mind, too sudden to do anything more than overwhelm him, but more than the confusion, Yixing was aware of Yifan’s worry, not just for Junmyeon, but for Yixing.

“You must sit down,” Yifan insisted, steering the advisor towards his father’s door when Yixing’s words gave way to choked breaths. “You are in no state to be on your feet.”

“No,” Yixing fired back. He couldn’t stop shaking, his hands the fabric of Yifan’s sleeves, but he couldn’t go back in there and do nothing. He had to be of use. He had to help. “No, I cannot. We must call a council. We must save Junmyeon. I must -”

“Easy,” Yifan hushed, and Yixing, for once, listened to the young lord. His silence was enough to have Yifan making a decision, glancing at the door one final time before giving the advisor a nod.

“We will go round up the others,” Yifan said, tugging the other along with him. “The sooner they are alerted, the better.”

Yixing nodded, glancing back up at Yifan as they continued to walk, thankful that at least his friend understood the need to be active. It took him only a moment to realize they were walking in the direction of the royal dining hall, where the king and queen would undoubtedly be.

The king and queen. Junmyeon and Minseok’s parents.

What was he supposed to say? What was anyone supposed to say in a situation like this? How do you tell parents that one of their children was severely injured and the other taken, possibly dead?

Yixing shook his head, chasing away that thought again. “He is alive,” he muttered to himself. “He has to be alive.”

“Hey,” Yifan’s voice cut in, a hand reaching up to wrap around Yixing’s arm, pulling them both to a stop just outside of the dining hall’s doors. “Look at me.”

When Yixing did, Yifan spoke, voice determined and firm. “We will find him, Yixing.”

Yixing glanced between the doors and Yifan, before taking a deep breath and nodding. Yes. They would find Junmyeon. But only after they had gathered the others and revealed what had happened. And that started with the regents.

With a deep breath, he pushed his way through the doors, Yifan following close behind.

-

The Council Room had never been this chaotic. But then again, they’d never encountered a situation like this.

And Yixing understood the confusion. He understood the overwhelming uncertainty, the inability to wrap one’s head around every detail, but unable to ignore the evidence given. Junmyeon was gone, and Minseok was alive, and nothing made sense. Even as Yixing tried to make sense of it, not only for himself, but for the council as well.

He and Yifan had gathered the members, one by one, and Yixing grew wearier with every member that arrived. The king and queen had been the worst, by far, as they were the only ones that had received the full story before the others had been assembled. Junhye refused to look at him since, her face buried in her hands as she sat by her husband’s side, sobbing silently into her fingers. Minki was trying to be more composed, trying to keep his emotions as controlled as possible, but his own tears had clouded his vision, breaths coming out more ragged than before. The others had been left waiting - save his father, who had taken his seat once he had finished his treatment of Minseok, shooting his son a firm nod - their eyes cutting across the room towards the regents in fleeting glances before finding Yixing and Yifan in the middle of it all.

Yixing hated this room’s design, how the council members sat on elevated benches that wrapped around the floor in a near-perfect circle, leaving the person presenting the problem or proposal to stand in the center, surrounded and on display. And with his mentality at the moment, Yixing hardly needed to feel any more vulnerability. He was hardly able to stand, trembling as badly as he was.

But he had done his part, with the encouragement of Yifan by his side, the young lord sticking close to him for support. He had told them all that he knew, of how Junmyeon had been taken by Crow, of how Minseok was alive and mostly well, and how they were left with a gruesome map leading to the younger prince’s whereabouts. Though the burns were still healing, Guozhi had arrived with a transcription of the lines, estimating a journey of roughly three days. Yixing had hardly been able to hold the paper as he spoke, fingers shaking.

And the council members had all listened with rapt attention, not a word passing their lips as Yixing laid out everything he knew. But now that he was done, the floor was open for discussion, and the sheer outburst of thirteen voices, talking over the top of one another, had him reaching out to steady himself against Yifan, grabbing the taller man’s arm.

His ears picked out the familiar voices first, Minki’s sharp words ringing loud and clear amidst the others.

“We must find Junmyeon at all costs and bring him back.”

Though the desperation was evident in his voice, the king was doing all he could to keep his expression calm and firm. Yixing, on the other hand, couldn't hide his own urgency, nodding quickly in agreement with Minki's statement. They had to get Junmyeon back.

But it could never be that easy. Not with the council.

“Acting on impulse will not provide us with the best choice,” another spoke up, a man Yixing simply knew as the Master of Law. “We must look at all sides.”

“What other sides are there, Namjae?” Minki snapped immediately, giving the man an incredulous look. “In what situation would abandoning the crown prince be the best choice?”

“Considering that the true crown prince has returned, it is not an implausible option,” the man to the right of Namjae chimed in, the words sending chills racing down Yixing’s spine, his breath catching in his throat as the others fell silent.

Weishan shifted at Minki’s side, eyes narrowed much like his son’s was at the moment. Weishan served as the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and he was as fierce as ever as he spoke. “What exactly are you suggesting, Chinhwa?”

“We have a prince here,” Chinhwa, Master of Coins, continued with a lofty tone, waving a hand towards Guozhi. “Grand Maester, Prince Minseok is alive, correct?”

“He is,” Guozhi answered quietly, though he sent Weishan a silent glance. “Badly burned and in pain, but alive.”

Yixing hadn’t been back to his father’s treatment room since he had left, but he could see the tightness around the older man’s eyes, the tension in his shoulders. Minseok’s wounds were nothing light, and his emotions had worn heavily on Guozhi’s nerves.

And yet Chinhwa smiled, settling back into his chair with a raised eyebrow and a satisfied sigh.

“Then we have our heir.”

“You cannot be serious,” another spoke, further down the line. “You would have us leave Prince Junmyeon in the hands of a sorcerer?”

“Hands that he willingly placed himself into,” a nobleman argued, and Yixing knew this man by reputation - and by having sat through a number of councils with Junmyeon before and listened to the horrible things that came from his mouth. His name was Zixin. He was known to be arrogant, and overall unpleasant in nature, driven by personal gain more than anything else. The only reason he held a seat in this room was his standing in the kingdom, and Yixing had never been more angry at another living person, because who was he to make such a judgment on Junmyeon’s character? Who was he to think he knew Junmyeon at all?

“You know nothing,” Yixing spat, drawing the attention of the others. “You speak of Junmyeon as if you know him, but you know nothing.”

“As his friend-turned-advisor, I am sure you know him well,” Zixin shot back, a snort leaving him. “Well enough to stand by unaware as he threw himself into business that is not his own. Or perhaps you advised him on such a poorly-made decision?”

Yixing curled in on himself at the accusation, dropping his gaze to the floor. Because wasn’t it his input that led to Junmyeon’s actions? He was nearly drowning in guilt as it was, but to hear it from someone else, someone on the outside looking in, was much more than he could take. But Yifan bristled at the words, stepping forward to shield Yixing from the other’s view.

“You will address Yixing with respect, or you will not address him at all,” the young lord growled, and Yixing looked up to see the sneer cross his friend’s face.

“I am simply pointing out what we have been told,” the man challenged, unfazed by Yifan’s response. “And an advisor who does not know of the prince’s actions is not a very good advisor, or would you disagree?”

“That is enough,” the Master of Faith, Guiren, interrupted. “We are not here to place blame, or to question this young man’s abilities. We are here to find a solution.”

“There is only one solution. Prince Junmyeon must be saved,” Weishan started again, shooting a look towards Chinhwa and Zixin. “It is only a matter of how.”

“Yes, how?” Chinhwa responded. “An army? That will cost the kingdom a very large sum of money. And without solid proof that Prince Junmyeon is still alive -”

“He is alive,” Minki roared, all eyes locked on his form. The king was shaking, his eyes pinning Chinhwa with a glare.

“Your Majesty,” Zixin cut in, tilting his head in thought as he leaned forward, “I understand your emotions, but the fact is, no one knows if the prince is still alive. No one but Crow. Who wants us to come and find out. It just seems like an awfully reckless thing to do.”

“But the alternative,” a man behind Yixing cut in, and the advisor turned to look at the new voice, “is leaving Prince Junmyeon in the hands of a sorcerer.”

“If he is alive, and we leave him there, he will surely be killed,” the Master of Ships, Haechul, insisted. “And then Crow will come once more for Prince Minseok.”

“So do we play into the sorcerer’s hands?” Hyunshik, Master of Intelligence, questioned. “Let ourselves be caught?”

“Sorcerer or not, there will only be so much the man can take of an army,” Weishan insisted. “We can overwhelm him, and get Prince Junmyeon back.”

“An army will take time,” Yifan argued suddenly, Yixing watching as the young lord gave his father a pleading look. “Time that Junmyeon may not have.”

“And what would you suggest?” Zixin quipped. “Send one brave soul to their death?”

“No,” Yifan snapped, shaking his head as he stepped forward. “I was suggesting a team of men. We have plenty of men within the gates who are highly qualified. It would take less time to assemble.”

“A team, while faster, would not be as equipped. An army is the best chance we have,” Weishan replied, holding up his hand when Yifan went to counter it. “And if we can end this threat against the kingdom, it is worth that time.”

“But at the cost of more lives,” Guiren mused, a frown working its way onto his features. “Is there not a way to retrieve the prince without more violence?”

“And what would you have us do?” Zixin laughed. “Organize a peace offering?”

“What do you want to do, then, Zixin?” Guozhi barked, uncharacteristically raising his voice. “Because from what I can gather, you have the least to offer to the conversation, yet the most criticism to give.”

The nobleman lifted his chin, peering down his nose at Guozhi with a curled upper lip. “We do not have to do anything, as long as you have done your job at keeping Prince Minseok alive.”

Yixing glared at Zixin openly, stepping forward to speak before Yifan pulled him back. Before he could defend his father, however, it was Weishan who came to the doctor’s aid.

“Yes, because Crow will certainly leave our kingdom alone if we ignore him,” Weishan hissed, raising his own chin in defiance. “This is not just any sorcerer, and maybe magic has been banned long enough for you to have forgotten the terrors of the Nightshade Rebellion, but I have not. He is powerful, and he is vengeful. The kingdom can only benefit from having this threat be put to an end once and for all.”

“If the kingdom manages to end it, that is,” Namjae added. “If we do not succeed, we face more danger with less defense and a poor morale amongst the people.”

“The people will always fight for Prince Junmyeon,” Minsheng, the Master of Domestic Affairs, countered as he nodded towards the king and queen, “and any other prince that bears the royal name. While they will be happy to hear of Prince Minseok’s return, Prince Junmyeon is still a member of the royal family, and is loved by the public. He must be saved.”

“Other kingdoms would reject our trade if we so readily one of our own,” Master of Foreign Affairs, Siyu, agreed. “Especially someone as highly regarded as Prince Junmyeon.”

“That is assuming they would find out that it was our decision to leave him,” Hyunshik hummed in thought. “All kingdoms have their secrets.”

“And what have secrets gotten us?” Junhye asked, speaking for the first time. Yixing knew the queen, while valued for her opinion, hardly spoke at such meetings, remaining a silent vote on most matters. But even with her emotions riddling her form, her voice was steady, eyes locked on her hands, which she had lowered from her face and held in her lap.

“Look at us,” she continued, pain in her voice as she shook her head. “Look at what we have done with our secrets. We’ve left ourselves unprepared, vulnerable, and with two young men’s lives hanging in the balance. Secrets do nothing but harm.”

The words hung in the silence that fell over the council room, and Yixing’s throat tightened as the air around him grew thick with tension. Before anyone could protest the queen’s words, Minki was speaking once more.

“It will come to a vote.”

Junhye flinched at his side, but other than placing a hand over hers, Minki made no move to address her. The king sent one final glance at each member of the council, taking a deep breath.

“All in favor of remaining here in the gates, and not retrieving Junmyeon.”

Yixing held his breath, watching as a few hands began to raise, counting as they did. Chinhwa, Namjae, Zixin, Hyunshik…

Four. Yixing counted again, and yes, there were only four votes. That meant -

“All in favor of saving Junmyeon,” the king said next, and Yixing nearly collapsed at the sight of nine hands raising, the air forcing its way into his lungs once more. Yifan reached out to grip Yixing’s arm tightly, his own relief dancing in his eyes, and the advisor reached up to cover the man’s hand with his own.

They would save Junmyeon.

“An army will be assembled,” Minki continued firmly, looking towards Weishan. “How many do you think will be feasible, in as short a time as possible?”

“I imagine I can gather a few hundred men easily,” Weishan said with a nod, sitting straighter in his chair as he glanced to Haechul for verification. “And they can be ready in three days’ time.”

“Three days?” Yifan repeated sharply, the relief suddenly vanishing, replaced by frustration. “It will take that long just to get to the location given on the map.”

And Yixing nodded to the words, because three days seemed like an awfully large amount of time. Without knowing the state of Junmyeon’s health, he hardly wanted to wait another hour, let alone three days. But it seemed the others disagreed.

“It is for the best,” Weishan insisted, shaking his head at Yifan disapprovingly. “Crow is anticipating us whether we leave tonight or three days from now. We must be prepared. It is the only way.”

“If it is indeed a trap, we will need that time to gather men,” Guozhi agreed. “To assure we save Prince Junmyeon, we must try to give ourselves any advantage possible.”

“But Father,” Yifan began, only for Weishan to cut him off.

“Three days, Yifan.”

Yifan fell quiet, his jaw muscles jumping as he fought the urge to speak, even as he kept his gaze on Weishan. Minki rose from his seat, a sign of dismissal, and the other members filed out quietly as the king turned to speak quietly to Junhye.

Before Weishan could even step onto the floor, Yifan was approaching him, relentless in his stance. Yixing followed close behind.

“Father, I ask you to reconsider.”

“We will speak later in private,” Weishan said with a stern look, “but our decision stands.”

“If we wait that long, who knows if Junmyeon will survive,” Yifan argued, walking briskly with his father as the older man moved towards the doors.

“But if we go now, unprepared as we are, it will not be a question of if Junmyeon lives or not. He will die if we go in without a proper plan.”

Yifan was shaking his head before his father could finish, both him and Yixing keeping the other’s pace as Weishan exited the Council Room, They lingered in the hallway just outside, allowing others to pass as Yifan continued to plead his case.

“Father, please.”

“Stop it,” the older man barked, and Yixing tensed at the tone, ducking slightly behind the young lord. “I will not entertain this conversation any longer.”

A hand on Yixing’s shoulder drew his gaze away from the tense set of Yifan’s shoulders, and the advisor looked up to see Guozhi standing near his side.

“Are you alright?” the doctor asked, and Yixing nodded weakly, before including a shrug. No, probably not. Not with the way his hands trembled by his side, his chest aching. But that didn’t matter right now.

His eyes slid over to see Chanyeol and Zitao both approaching, though slowly as they noticed the conversation’s harsh turn. Chanyeol did his best to smile, though it hardly reached his eyes, something that spoke volumes of his stress level. Zitao, too, looked a little more shaken, something Yifan picked up on quickly, his eyes softening as he met Zitao's gaze. Guozhi filled them in with the council’s decision before either could ask, and Yixing watched as the guards grimaced, though they remained silent.

No one in their immediate group was happy with the wait, it seemed. But what could they do? The council's decision was final.

“Any change on Minseok?” the doctor asked, steering the conservation in a different direction when the silence stretched on, and Chanyeol shook his head.

“No, sir. He has been asleep since you left.”

"Jongdae promised he would find us if he woke up again," Zitao added.

“Good,” the older man said with a nod. “His body needs rest. And sleep will allow those burns to begin to heal without him moving too much.”

“I am sure he will make a full recovery in your care,” Weishan added, flashing a tight smile towards Guozhi. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must discuss strategy with Haechul if we are to be ready in our allotted time.”

Weishan went off to find Haechul, and Yifan watched him go with a torn expression, opening his mouth to speak, before something else drew his attention. Yixing followed the man’s gaze, looking towards the doors of the Council Room. Most of the members had left rather quickly, but Minki and Junhye were just emerging into the hallway. The queen kept her eyes down, but Minki gave them all a brief nod, stiff and unreadable, before they turned to leave.

But as they begin to walk down the hallway, Yifan spoke up again, his voice hardly above a whisper.

“They are going the wrong way.”

Yixing frowned, because they were walking back towards their own bed chambers. The queen could hardly walk without the aid of her husband, clutching to him as they moved down the hallway, Minki speaking to her quietly. They needed their own time to adjust to the information, Yixing assumed, and he didn’t understand Yifan’s words.

“Yifan?” he questioned, looking between his friend and the regents.

But then the young lord clarified, his voice holding a note of sheer disbelief.

“Minseok is in the opposite direction.”

Yixing’s heart dropped at the observation, because no, they were not going towards his father’s room where Minseok was recovering. But they had to have known. The entire council knew of Minseok’s current whereabouts. Yixing had not even thought of the regents going to see their son, but now, when they clearly were not doing so at the moment, the realization sunk deep into his bones, leaving an ache in his chest.

And Yifan was practically vibrating with anger.

“Wait,” he called out, his voice growing louder. “Hey, wait a minute.”

Zitao reached out, a hand sliding over his chest to come to a rest on his shoulder, holding the young lord still. He gave a cautious look towards Weishan, who still stood close by. The young guard wet his lips before looking back towards Yifan. “My lord…”

“No, they cannot do this,” Yifan started, brushing past Zitao, eyes narrowed on the regents’ retreating forms. “Wait. Stop.”

Minki heard the call, glancing up as Yifan neared, and Yixing watched as the young lord’s hands fisted at his side, stopping just shy of the couple.

"Yifan, my wife is very tired," Minki started, glancing between Yifan and the hallway in front of them. "Whatever more you have to say can wait until tomorrow."

“Why are you not visiting your son?" the young lord questioned firmly, looking between the king and queen, who had paled at her husband’s side. Minki hesitated at the words, pulling Junhye closer before clearing his throat.

“He needs his rest. Guozhi said so himself.”

“Rest does not hinder you visiting,” Yifan shot back, shaking his head. “You are going the wrong way.”

“Tonight, we shall rest, as well,” Minki countered, “and tomorrow, we will visit. Now, if you would please allow us to pass.”

When the regents moved to continue on towards their chambers, Yifan stepped in front of them, blocking their path. Others began to notice the exchange, watching the three with interest, but Yifan paid their attention no mind as he narrowed his eyes at Minki, planting his feet solidly against the wooden floor in defiance.

“Yifan,” the king began, glancing towards the queen - she still had yet to look up, Yixing noted - before turning to face the younger man once more, his own frustration growing. “Please. This does not concern you.”

“No, but it concerns Minseok,” Yifan argued. “He is in a lot of pain. Why do you not go to him?”

“The prince has grown into a fine young man without us for all of these years,” Minki reasoned after a moment, not meeting the young lord’s gaze. “One more night shall not make a difference.”

Yifan paused at the words, before outright scoffing in disbelief. “You say that as if this were all his choice. As if he wished to be cursed and hidden away. Minseok -”

“Is getting the best care possible. That is all we can ask,” Minki cut him off, and Yifan’s temper slipped, his next words edged in anger.

“If it were Jun in that cot -”

“But it is not,” Minki snapped, his voice harsh in the echo of the hallway. He paused, taking a breath that was meant to calm himself, though Yixing thought it probably did nothing to help settle his emotions. “He is asleep. He will not notice our presence. We will visit when he is awake.”

“Will you?” Yifan challenged with a raised chin. “I am starting to question if you will go see him at all.”

“How dare you?” Minki hissed, his own anger rising. “Do not stand there and lecture me on how I should and should not react to a situation such as this, with everything that I have lost. How could you possibly understand a father’s pain at the loss of a child?”

“Minki,” Junhye whispered, finally looking up at her husband with pleading eyes. Something in Yifan’s words had driven her to respond, and she looked over at the young lord with a new sense of awareness before turning back to the king. “Minki, perhaps we should. Can we not go?”

Minki reached up to cover the queen’s hand, which had risen to clutch the front of his tunic. Yixing could see her trembling from where he stood, and the king’s gaze softened as he squeezed her fingers gently. “You are in no state for such a reunion tonight. And the prince would not be awake to understand.”

He slid his eyes back over at Yifan, his jaw tightening around his next words. “Can you not see how this is affecting her? You think you know best, but you do not. You do not know how we feel.”

“Do you think I am not in pain over Junmyeon? That I do not feel that same agony that you do?” Yifan spat, hand covering his own chest in emphasis. He looked away, eyes shut tight before he turned his attention back to them, desperation in his tone. “How do you think Minseok feels? Having spent all these years alone, only to watch another be taken in his stead? A brother, at that? He is hurting, too. And he needs you just as much as Junmyeon.”

The queen nodded, but Minki was quick to step in again, refusing the words.

“The boy in Guozhi’s room may be the prince, but he is still a stranger.”

“He is still your son!” Yifan roared, voice echoing through the halls. Yixing saw the king’s gaze falter, an expression of something Yixing had a hard time pinpointing - doubt? Uncertainty? - casting a shadow across his face for a moment before it was gone. “And if I were in your position, with one son’s fate unknown, I would make damn sure I did not lose the other because of my own selfish hesitations.”

“You are out of line,” Minki hissed.

“And do you know who is visiting him?” Yifan continued with a shake of his head, hand gesturing towards the general direction of Guozhi’s room.

Minki had heard enough, leaving the queen in her spot as he stepped forward, his finger pointing at the young lord in anger. “Yifan, you will be quiet.”

But Yifan ignored the warning, speaking quicker, words growing more heated with every passing second. “Kim Jongdae. He has not left his side, no doubt to assure that when Minseok does wake up, he is not alone. To make sure he knows someone cares for him.”

A sneer passed over Yifan’s lips. “A stable hand has more honor than a king and queen for their own son.”

Yixing flinched at the sound of Minki’s palm hitting Yifan’s cheek, the young man’s head whipping to the side with the force of the slap. All eyes were now on the king, who stood before Yifan with his chest heaving, face red in his anger.

“I said quiet.”

Yixing could not see Yifan’s expression, but he could see how his hands fisted the fabric of his pants, shaking slightly as he forced himself to stay still, and how Weishan tensed at the action.

“Minki,” the queen whispered, her voice painted with shock as she stepped forward to tug the man’s sleeve. “Minki, please.”

Minki’s face turned to look at her, before he let his gaze sweep the room. No one made a move to speak, many averting their eyes, though a few managed to hold the king’s gaze. Weishan, and Guozhi, and Chanyeol and Zitao, and Yixing - all held their ground when Minki’s eyes found them, silent but without backing down. Minki gave Yifan one final look before shaking his head. He took a step back, placing a hand on the small of Junhye’s back and leading her away. She opened , as if to protest when she realized the path her husband was leading her along was still not in the direction of Minseok, but with a glance spared to the others, she followed the king’s lead, holding his arm as she walked.

When the regents had disappeared from sight, it was Zitao who was the first to move.

The young guard crossed the floor quickly, reaching Yifan in a handful of strides. He reached up briefly to slide his fingers across Yifan’s cheek, over the welt that had begun to form, before letting his hand fall to his arm. “Are you alright, Yifan?”

Yifan gave a curt nod, dropping his gaze to the floor as he brought his face back forward. His fingers unclenched from his pants as he made himself relax, though the anger was still present in his words when he spoke.

“They would leave their own son to suffer alone,” he muttered under his breath, Yixing just barely catching the words as he neared. “Monsters,” he whispered, and Zitao’s hand slid down further, long fingers wrapping around the older man’s wrist.

“They are overwhelmed. Give them time.”

“Why do they deserve time when their sons are not given that privilege?” Yifan questioned sharply, looking up at Zitao with such frustration and heartache that Yixing paused in his approach. The young lord was hurting, his emotions slipping through the cracks of his scowl to leave him vulnerable. Yixing could not recall a time where his friend looked so lost, and it left him feeling like he had taken a punch to the gut.

Weishan was next to reach the pair.

“People respond differently to situations,” Weishan said quietly, giving Zitao a nod. The guard stepped back, clearing his throat as a slight blush stained his cheeks, but Weishan paid no mind as he reached up to grip Yifan’s chin, turning his son’s head to the side to examine his cheek. With a nod, he let his son’s face go, sighing. “And we cannot dictate their actions.”

Yifan immediately spoke in protest to the words, shaking his head sharply. “But Father, they are wrong.”

“That may be,” Weishan allowed slowly, “and I think Junhye already sees that, though it will probably be morning before Minki does. But that does not mean getting angry will solve the problem.”

Yifan looked away again with a huff, and Weishan sighed, a dry smirk sliding across his features as he observed his son fighting his emotions. “You are far too much like me for your own good. So quick to let your passion consume you.”

“Passion is not a bad thing,” Yifan fired back, and Weishan’s smirk grew, a spark of pride flashing in his eyes.

“No,” he agreed as he tugged at Yifan’s shirt, straightening the fabric. “And neither is the loyalty you’ve shown to your friends. But,” he continued with a raised eyebrow, “it will be best to save that fire for later. It has been a long night. No amount of arguing is going to do any good at this hour.”

Yifan gave his father a hard look before relenting, looking down again in defeat.

“Haechul and I shall have a plan ready by morning,” Weishan assured his son, giving Yifan’s shoulders a squeeze. “We will get Junmyeon back and be done with Crow once and for all. You will see. The preparation time will not be without purpose.”

Yifan looked up again as Chanyeol and Yixing came to a stop by his side, though his eyes were solely on Weishan. Yixing could hear his friend’s question before it was voiced, and could predict the answer as well, though that would never stop Yifan from asking.

“Allow me to accompany you,” the young lord requested, but Weishan shook his head.

“While I admire your desire to help, this is not a conversation you can join while in your current state of mind. You are angry, and you must be tired.” He glanced up at Chanyeol then, giving the young man a nod. “I will allow Captain Park to join me, and he will fill you in tomorrow morning, after you have rested.”

Chanyeol gave a quick nod, straightening as Weishan addressed him. Yixing knew Chanyeol had hoped to be a part of the strategizing, though he did not have as much experience as Weishan or Haechul. The captain had offered his service the minute Guozhi had mentioned the council’s decision, and he would be a vital part of recruiting.

“But Father,” Yifan began, only to earn a stern, yet understanding, look.

“Tomorrow, Yifan. I promise. Go check on the prince, and then go get some sleep.”

Again, Yifan looked away, his upper lip curled in frustration. But his silence was enough of an acceptance for Weishan to leave it at that. With a final pat to the shoulder, the older man pulled away, beckoning Chanyeol to follow him as he made his way back towards Haechul. Zitao started after them, only to hesitate, shooting a concerned look back at Yifan. The young guard was conflicted, torn between joining Chanyeol or staying to assure Yifan was truly alright; fortunately, Chanyeol made the decision for him.

“I will find you after we have discussed the plan,” he assured Zitao, giving him a knowing smile. “Go with Guozhi and the others and keep me informed on Minseok’s progress.”

Zitao nodded immediately, sending the taller guard a grateful look before turning to Yifan once more.

It was then that Yixing reached out to his friend, catching Yifan’s arm just above the elbow. The young lord looked over at him at the touch, and Yixing did his best to smile, though he knew the expression was far more wilted than usual. Neither men felt much like smiling, too worried and tired and upset with everything that was happening around them. But the gesture was enough to reassure Yifan of his presence, that at least, in all of this, Yixing was on his side, and the young lord took it readily, giving the advisor a small smile of his own.

“Yifan is not the only one who needs rest,” Guozhi commented, giving his son a pointed look as he ran a hand across the advisor’s forehead. “You look pale, and I was afraid you would drop at any minute during the council. Perhaps you should go on to bed.”

Yixing frowned at the words, shaking his head, because how was his supposed to sleep at a time like this? But his father countered the refusal before he could outright say it.

“My room will be awfully crowded,” he continued, waving a hand towards the others who stood around them, “what with Yifan and Zitao, here, as well as Jongdae. And you are far too drained to do much more than watch.”

As if to put the last touch on the order, Guozhi gave his son a small nudge, guiding Yixing back towards his own chambers. “Go. I will send someone to fetch you if your presence is needed.”

Yixing was not yet convinced, holding his ground as he gave his father a pleading look. But when he looked to Yifan, and the young man’s smile softened, tossing his chin to indicate Yixing should comply with Guozhi’s wishes, the protest died on the tip of his tongue. He was exhausted, and he had reached his limit. His father was right. He should step away for a while.

With a final promise to come find him should Minseok wake, Yixing his heel, making his way towards his room. But even as he walked, footsteps heavy and mind clouded, he knew he would not be able to sleep.

Not when Junmyeon’s room remained empty.

Nat’s Notes: Hellooo, lovelies! Fun fact: This chapter could be a celebration for 1) finishing Chapter 10, the last real chapter, and 2) surpassing 100.000 (~109.600 at the time of writing) words, and 3) surpassing 200 (230 at the time of writing) pages! Also, we’re so sorry for that last chapter (ish). And this, because hah, no answers <33   I do hope you do not mind the… I hesitate with using the word ‘filler’, but there is a lot of talk and thoughts, here, and not much action. But there’s some character build, someone who shines a bit (*cough* Yifan *cough* Meg: COUGH COUGH LOVE HIM COUGH), so I hope you enjoyed it, even with the lack of our dear Prince Junmyeon! Another fun fact: We only need to write the epilogue. And that hurts. And with that said, the next chapter will be uploaded… Soon ish, because the epilogue won’t be too long (don’t hold me up on that, because this happens to change often Meg: *sobs*). And with Chapter 10, the epilogue will follow, and in the epilogue’s AN(s), we may have news, so keep an eye out!

I think that’s all. We hope you enjoyed this, despite its length (next will be longer… OTL) and everything. Thank you for reading! And comments warm our cold hearts and make us more inclined to write happy endings <3

Meg’s Notes: We are alive! Our schedules are stupid (Nat: I mean, ing hell). (But HEY, new poster! Nat: YES. IT’S GORGEOUS <333) Like Nat said, there was not too much action in this. I mean lots of stuff happened, but all in one night, and no word of Junmyeon! But character development is worth it, right? (We love Yifan in this, truly. And Weishan. Nat: The Wu family is our favourite, truly) But we hope you liked this (incredibly long) update! We are nearing the end (*depressed sigh*), But we will, hopefully, have a better upload schedule this time around. Maybe. We have a lot of other projects going on, including more ideas, so. But enjoy this chapter, and if you feel that gentle tug (or guilt from us saying this, I will take either one, sorry), leave a comment <333 It lets us know people other than ourselves like this story ^^

Lovely readers, we will see you for Chapter 10!