“Your Royal Highness, the people are waiting for you.”

Ten’s eyes flicker up, meeting their reflection in the huge ornate mirror of his dressing room. The space is still a blithering mess now that he’s moved in to his father’s chamber and has yet to put all his things in order. The King’s chamber is almost four times the size of Ten’s original chamber, with a four-poster bed, plush silk curtains, thick fur carpet and gold ts to match the height of all royalty. Its bathroom is almost as big as Ten’s former bedroom and equipped with its own dressing room where Ten now sits, combing his hair with his fingers.

It’s been three days since the announcement of Ten’s coronation, three days for him to prepare for the biggest turning point of his life. It sounds like a hard-hitting cliché, but in reality, it is so much more than that. Becoming King of Siam comes with a lot of diplomatic responsibilities and political regulations that need careful and immediate attention. In the past 72 hours, Ten has done nothing but go through scrolls upon scrolls of monarchy stipulations that need the stamp of his initials to verify the transfer of powers. Ten’s always thought that becoming the ruler of all of Thailand means living the ultimate life of a royal, but there is so much more than what the prestigious title portrays.

The phrai bows before him as he stands in front of the massive oak doors, his body rigid as he makes his way outside. Ten stands up and adjusts the sleeves of his golden khrui, careful not to mess with its exquisite embroideries. His hands are bare and his palms cold despite the post-summer heat.  He sighs and closes his eyes momentarily.

Today, he will be King of Siam and the head of Thailand’s long-standing monarchy, and he’s only 20 years old. A first in history. He could only wish that things get better from here on out.

He opens his eyes and finds a pair of dark brown orbs staring intently at him from behind. The same pair has never exuded as much tenderness and anxiety as they do now.

“Taeyong,” Ten sighs, not realizing he was holding his breath in.

The mun nai smiles, the sides of his lips twitching awkwardly, accenting his handsome jaw. “Are you ready?”

Ten laughs frailly. “I’m more afraid than ready, to be honest.”

Taeyong walks closer, his feet waltzing towards Ten with such ease and familiarity. “You don’t have to be. I will be right beside you when you need me.”

Ten’s smile reaches his eyes, crinkling the bridge of his nose. “I know,” he says. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. It is my duty to protect my king.”

Ten bites his lips. There is a hint of sadness in Taeyong’s eyes and he wants to pull him closer, tell him that this is all just a play. That inside his golden robe and all that shiny jewellery, he is still his Ten, his Crown Prince and the same person he had sworn to protect four months ago. He is still his as he is his too.

Taeyong’s fingers are lithe when they brush over Ten’s jaw. He leans in, the warmth of his mouth burning an invisible mark on Ten’s rose-painted lips. The Crown Prince sighs into the kiss, pressing himself closer to Taeyong and hearing the light tinkle of the gold studs and stones in his khrui. Taeyong’s mouth is both sweet and compelling, and Ten wonders if his heart will ever learn not to trip over itself whenever the mun nai is near.

Taeyong pulls away seconds after, his mouth red. He heaves a sigh and drops his hands to his sides, eyes trailing over Ten’s entire form like he’s taking him in, embedding his image in his memory. The smile that spreads across his face is blinding, but Ten feels the hurt when the mun nai frowns right after. It’s like Taeyong knows he’s losing Ten no matter how many times the Crown Prince has said he won’t.

Taeyong’s head instantly to the side at the sound of a knock from the door. He takes two steps back and places his hands calmly behind him. His moves are always automatic and careful, Ten almost wants to tell him that it’s okay. He’s always told him that he can be himself around him whenever he wants, and how he wishes that it’s every time.

“I’m sorry, Your Royal Highness,” the same phrai says as he makes his way into the room, bowing in front of Ten, “but it is time.”

Ten nods with a tepid smile, signalling the phrai to leave. He pulls the edges of his sleeves closer to his wrists and heaves a long, uneasy sigh before looking at the mun nai*. “Well?” his voice is quivering and he hates it – he hates this. “How do I look?”

Taeyong’s eyes are dark yet gentle as he looks at Ten from head to foot. “Like a king,” he says with a fetching smile that takes Ten’s breath away.

The Crown Prince beams. That’s all he needs to know.

***

Ten’s wrist burns from the itch of the elaborate jewels on his expensive khrui as it scratches on his skin. He’s standing at the back of the Throne Room, waiting in a small covered area until he is summoned by the Buddhist monk for the King’s blessing and coronation. From where he’s standing, he can see the Nopphapadon Mahasawettachat* stalking in white silk and proud gold near the King’s throne. Traditions dictate that the tiers of the elaborate umbrella embody the King’s eight focal directions, patterned after a compass to achieve the ultimate blessing destined for Siam’s new conqueror. The topmost tier of the umbrella visualizes the imminent burdens and affliction of the new monarchy, providing foresight to the country’s succeeding leader.

From a few feet in front of the high dais bearing the throne, the Great Crown of Victory lies in wait on a silk pillow resting on a dark wooden stand. The multi-tiered diadem shaped like a cone is dotted with diamonds, made of pure gold and coated with a bit of red and green. Ten breathes deep, feeling the air scrape through his throat before seeping through the veins in his lungs. He’s nervous and he can feel his hands sweating cold.

The Buddhist monk has begun the righteous ceremonies and in just a few minutes, Ten is bound to be called. He peeks through the small crack between the curtains separating the back of the Throne Room from the dais. The hall is filled with nobles and royals, and even a few civilians from the middle and lowers sects. He can see Doyoung and Mark standing amongst the other royals from neighbouring lands, all of them looking eager to see the new ruler of Siam’s monarchy. Throngs of soldiers surround the entire space, hands poised on the butts of their sword in case of any unwelcomed guests.

“Your Majesty.” Yuta’s voice is unmistakable despite how tired he sounds; it has that subtle lilt that Ten can’t quite describe. The moment Ten sees the Crown Prince at the back of the room, he runs to him, wrapping his lanky arms around his equally gangly form. “Ow! Heyyy,” Yuta greets, his voice a little squeaky. “I’m sorry I’m late. I tried to come earlier, but you know how slow time gets when you’re at sea.” He holds Ten’s face in his hand and gives him the widest smile, eyes b with tears.

“Sssshh,” Ten shushes, hugging the Crown Prince tighter. “It’s fine. You’re here now.”

Yuta laughs but it sounds a little sad. “I literally just got off the dock, so please excuse me if I smell like fish and sun right now.”

The Chrysanthemum Throne Prince has been away for at least five days now, almost taking a complete U-turn on his ship during his supposed return to Osaka to report to his father post-graduation. Upon learning of the King’s passing, Yuta ordered his subordinates to take him back to Siam to attend the funeral, but he gets there two days late and misses all ceremonial rites.

“Now is all that matters,” Ten says, giving his friend’s hand a tight squeeze. Just having Yuta around already makes him feel ten times lighter. “Also, please don’t call me ‘Your Majesty’, I don’t have the crown yet. Plus, it kinda grates on me.” He makes a point to whisper the last few words to his friend.

Yuta wipes the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand and gives Ten’s hair a playful ruffle. “Well, sorry to upset you, My King, but it looks like they’re about to crown you now.”

Yuta’s right. The phrai has hit the gong from the side of the platform, its hollow sound vibrating in the stone walls of the Throne Room and signalling Ten’s entrance. At the strike, the monk takes a few steps back on the dais, his saffron robe curling around his feet. Ten gives Yuta one last smile before turning around and walking his way to the stand. The Throne Room is packed with numerous guests, all dressed in fine clothing to welcome Siam’s new ruler. Ten can feel his limbs numbing while he walks, but he manages gracefully and pulls on a straight face in his stride.

The Throne Room is cloaked in full gold, chandeliers ablaze, and crests of the Royal Standard unfolded in huge tapestries around the walls. There is a huge lump in Ten’s throat now that all eyes are on him, but he swallows it down and focuses his eyes on the cenobite instead. The old man smiles at him, bowing ever so gently with his hands held together on his chest. Ten bows back in greeting before turning to face the people, the lights and jewels from all around blinding him.

The Buddhist monk takes a few minutes to recite a few rites pre-crowning. He paces towards the stand and takes the diadem from its pillow before handing it to Ten with both hands. Ten takes it, willing everything in him to keep his fingers from shaking, and places the crown on his head. The crowd instantly erupt in cheers to celebrate their new King.