Ten’s science class ended quite peacefully compared to how it began. Johnny is slowly relaxing in the presence of Taeyong even though he almost slit his throat just hours ago. Their next class won’t start until an hour from now and Ten has decided to invite everyone to their usual hangout place at the school field beside the river.

The Thai Prince is lying on the grass, his hands clasped on his flat stomach while he hums under the shade of the biggest tree. The smile on his lips widens and he closes his eyes, allowing the rush of the river waters to fill his ears. This is his idea of perfect relaxation.

“We will surely miss you, Johnny,” Yuta says and Ten doesn’t need to open his eyes to know the Chrysanthemum Throne Prince is sporting a wide smile on his face.

“I will, too,” Johnny responds, his tone less cheerful. “I spent half of my life here. I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”

Ten sits up, his lips stretched out to reveal his pearly white teeth. “I will miss you, Seo Youngho,” he says, his voice quiet. It’s the first time he’s ever called Johnny by his real name.

“Thank you. Really, guys. I’m not good with these cheesy stuff, but you guys are the best friends any crazy person like me could ever have,” Johnny chokes more than says.

Ten stands up, bits of grass falling from his robe as he stretches out his hand to the son of the US General. He's always had a hard time seeing someone close to him go. Johnny stares at his hand for a few good seconds before reaching out and pulling Ten closer for a hug.

“You be good, Crown Prince. You are bound to do great things,” Johnny whispers in Ten’s ear before releasing him from his hold. He laughs despite the unusual sparkle in his eyes. His hand falls on Ten’s hair, ruffling it playfully between his fingers.

“Ow!” Ten winces with a smile, nursing the wound underneath his bandage. The lump is no longer there and it feels a whole lot better than before.

“You take care of this brat for me, Lord Taeyong!” Johnny points at the mun nai. Taeyong is leaning on the other side of the tree, his eyes fixed at somewhere far.

Hansol is munching on a piece of apple right beside Yuta while the latter grins at their two friends. “I’m sure we’ll see you again, Johnny.” Yuta’s tone is optimistic.

“I’m sure we will—aaah!” Johnny yelps when Hansol jumps on his back piggyback-style, hugging him tightly around the neck. “I can’t breathe, Hansol!” he chokes.

Hansol just chuckles, proceeding to munching on his apple while he snakes his legs around Johnny’s waist for added support. “I’m gonna miss you too, Johnny,” he mumbles, dripping apple juice on Johnny’s hair.

“Ugh!” Johnny groans with a painful laugh. “You’re gonna get me injured before I even go to war.” Ten and Yuta are rolling on the grass in fits of laughter.

Ten will miss this. He will miss the four of them, sitting on the grass, wrestling each other like children and forgetting who they are and what they are destined to be. Being a prince or a son of a general means living the life of a royal, embracing your blood as a noble. Your life is all laid out before you are even born. It is not a matter of choice or a matter of fate, it is simply a matter of principle. This is their last year in the university and Ten knows that sooner or later, things are set to change. He might not even see his friends again unless a war is upon them and they need to join forces or worse, fight against each other's armies.

“I can’t believe the headmaster is still making you finish all your classes before going home. The sense of urgency in your father’s summons is now dead,” Yuta comments, arching his back from the trunk of the tree he's been leaning on.

Johnny shakes his head with a soft smile. “It was actually my choice. I wanted to finish all the paperwork needed for an early graduation. Plus, I really didn’t want to leave so soon. I was just buying time so Your Royal Highness here can throw a grand party for me.”

“I knew it!” Ten yells. He pulls a slipper off and throws it at his friend.

“Ow!” Johnny yelps as the golden footwear hits him right in the arm. Ten sticks his tongue out teasingly.

“So are you sailing home tonight?” Hansol asks, resting an arm on Yuta’s shoulders. The latter bows his head, a sheepish smile spreading on his face.

“Mhmm,” Johnny hums. “The ship will dock before sunset and we need to be off by then.”

“Shall we see you off?” Yuta asks, his head leaning comfortably on Hansol’s fully stretched arm.

Johnny’s head shakes. “No need. Let’s save the tears for later. Besides, we still have sparring class in ten minutes.”

“You’re still sparring with us??” Ten asks, his eyes rounding up in surprise.

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss my favourite class for the world,” Johnny answers and his smile is dark and menacing.

Ten rolls his eyes. Johnny is the best swordsman in their group and presumably the best fighter in their class. The breadth of his arms and his tower-like built are not the only things he has as an advantage, he was also trained by one of the world’s greatest generals. Ten, on the other hand, is an average swordsman (or so he’d like to think). If it’s any consolation to the city of Siam, their Crown Prince passed two levels of swordsmanship, which is the standard for a normal citizen, just not for someone in the royal ranks.

Yuta laughs. “Well this should be interesting. I guess we should go to the sparring hall now.”

Ten turns his head to look at Taeyong, the mun nai is still standing at the other side of the tree, one knee bent and eyes staring blankly at the blue sky. The shadow of the huge branches falls perfectly on his face, highlighting the flawless curve of his nose and the strength of his jaw. His hand is poised at the handle of his sword and for some reason, Ten can feel a sense of calm and security whenever he’s near.

“Shall we?” Johnny invites, offering a hand to Ten. Ten takes it and Johnny pulls him up from the ground with ease.

“Spar, we shall!” Ten exclaims, slinging an arm around Johnny’s neck as they head towards the direction of the sparring hall.

***

The sparring hall is a lot bigger than the university’s normal classrooms with its floor space spanning to about 60 feet in length. The ground is covered in hard sand mixed with fine gravel, wooden steps lining it from the sides used as waiting sheds by other scholars who are preparing for a fight. Other university scholars who wish to watch their fellow nobles spar can do so from its loosely tapered walls and open windows.

The sun is right smack in the middle of the sky, its rays reaching out like sharp needles with fire at the tip. Warriors would say this is a good day to spar. For the Crown Prince of Thailand, however, there is no such thing as a good sparring day.

Ten frowns as soon as their Spar Master, Veera, hands him his sword. “Do I really have to spar with Johnny today, Master? Why not Mark?”

Mark turns his head at the sound of his name. He is surrounded by his group of friends from the starter level in one corner of the hall. The young noble spots Ten from a distance and waves his hand enthusiastically in greeting.

Ten smiles tentatively before looking back at his Spar Master, his eyes begging for respite.

“My apologies, Your Royal Highness, but Mark is not at a level to spar with you yet,” the old man says with a respectful bow. He is wearing an olive mun nai outfit with a gold sash tied around his arm and waist. His arms are bare, lined with veins and a few scars from past combats. “Also, it is Young Master Johnny’s wish to spar with each one of you. I’m sure Your Royal Highness would hate to turn down a friend’s request.”

Ten nods in an attempt to hide his scowl. He is wearing his swordsman outfit, a dark robe tied tightly around his waist and baring his thin arms. His leather boots reach up to hug around his calves, the ends of his robe swaying around his feet. You’re gonna pay for this, Seo Youngho, the Crown Prince mutters under his breath.

“I thought you said you passed your combat exams with flying colours?” Taeyong’s voice is expectantly calm when he matches Ten’s slow pace back to the other side of the hall. “For someone who aced their sparring classes, you look incredibly nervous for a friendly spar.”

Ten stops in his tracks and faces the mun nai with the heaviest glare he could muster. “I don’t remember giving you permission to speak, mun nai.”

Taeyong smirks and Ten feels like someone just punched him in the gut. “Forgive me, Your Royal Highness. I was merely recounting your words from the first time we met.”

Ten laughs sardonically, his face twisting into an unpleasant scowl. “Very funny, mun nai.”

Taeyong scratches his head with a shrug, the gold serpent on his arm glistening brightly in the afternoon light, highlighting the fine cuts of his arm muscles.

Ten fights the urge to stare and averts his gaze on the Lord’s hands instead. And that’s when he notices it – the bandage on Taeyong’s right wrist. It surely wasn’t there the first time they met and Taeyong hasn’t left his side since the night… Ten’s thoughts halt to a stop. Of course, that night. The night of the attack. Ten shakes his head to regain his focus. “Taeyong, that bandage—“

“Welcome to sparring class, young nobles!” Master Veera greets, drowning out the words from Ten’s mouth. Around 60 scholars are waiting in groups around the hall, each holding on to the tip of their swords. The Spar Master is standing in the middle of the hall, his tanned skin shining under the summer beam. “As you all know, today is Young Master Johnny’s final sparring class. Such a shame that we will miss one of our most skilled swordsmen in class.”

Ten hears Hansol snort from the side as he and Taeyong stand next to their group. Johnny quickly elbows him in the stomach in revenge.

“In lieu of acknowledging such sad news, the Young Master would like to invite his closest friends to a friendly spar.”

The quiet in the room is immediately disturbed by the buzzing sound of scholars talking amongst their groups. The announcement is not actually a shocker given that Ten and his group of friends are known for having quite the grandest entrances and exits in the social scene. Ten knows that bets are starting to be placed and raised at the moment and most, if not all, are betting he’ll be the first one out.

“Are you right-handed or left-handed?” Taeyong’s standing next to Ten, his eyes on the Spar Master.

Ten’s eyebrows knit in confusion. “Right,” he finally answers.

“Keep your right hand closer to the guard*. It will give you a tighter grip and a more stable aim.” Taeyong’s voice is still soft and steady, but his eyes are studying Johnny while he swings his sword in his hand and finds his place at the centre of the hall.

Ten nods and prepares to join Johnny at the centre, only to be blocked by Taeyong's arm.

“Watch his feet. The first step he takes will be pre-emptive and will not be his actual attack. You have to know when he’s bluffing.” Taeyong’s breath is hot against the Crown Prince’s ear, his voice dropping into a whisper. Ten has to shake his