Jiyong glanced to the side for the millionth time in the last four hours. Normally, he wasn’t so distracted, but the boy kneeling there at his side drew his attention and his curiosity like nothing else.

“My King? What is your decision?”

He looked back over at the nobleman staring him down, trying his best to intimidate the young king. Jiyong had never much liked the man – too pompous, self-important, when he wasn’t worth the cost of the tiles he stood on – and decided that using his distaste was thee perfect way to mask how completely oblivious he’d been to the proceedings.

“Lord Seungri may be brash, but you’re the one in the wrong. He gets the land and the tithes from the farmers there.”

The nobleman turned white then red in short order and looked ready to march up the dais of the throne and throttle him, but reigned himself in just in time. He, instead, spun abruptly on his heel and stormed off. From the side, Lee Seungri snickered.

“I wouldn’t go around starting fights, however.” Jiyong’s voice echoed across the assembly and Seungri quieted, ducking his head. “All other issues can wait until tomorrow.”

Yongbae looked at him, eyes thinly veiling judgement, before he nodded. “As you command.”

Yongbae had been Jiyong’s friend since childhood and the former stableboy-turned-advisor couldn’t possibly be a better friend or know more about the working mind of his friend and king, but even then, there were some things which just evaded him.

One of them was Jiyong’s fascination with his gift.

Two months ago had been Prince Jiyong’s official coronation (despite having run the country for his ailing father for years beforehand) and as a gift from his neighbouring king (who happened to be a very good friend of Jiyong’s as well), he gave the new king his favourite slave.

Seunghyun knew that Jiyong’s nation was a free one and slavery was illegal, but the man had passed him the silver leash regardless, his signature crooked smile in place.

“He’s my favourite, so you best be good to him.” Seunghyun said, punching him lightly in the shoulder. “He’s very special. Not only to me, but to this world.”

Jiyong had been unsure of what this meant until the first night he woke up to the soft sound of sobbing from the room adjoining his. When he entered his . . . slave’s room, he was stunned to find Daesung covered in lash marks, leaking down his back. His arms were wrapped around himself as he knelt on his bed, head down so his wavy bronze hair stood in the way, like a shield against being discovered.

“Who did this to you?!” Jiyong hadn’t intended to yell, but he did and Daesung jumped like he’d been stuck.

“It wasn’t done to me, my lord.” He responded, voice weak and shaky, forced steady through what sounded like fear. “This has happened all my life.”

“Explain. Right now. Is this what Seunghyun was talking about?”

Daesung ducked his head again. “I was given to him as a gift from my parents. It elevated them to nobility and provided a better life for my siblings. I’m special, just like King Choi said.”

He approached the bed, kneeling and ducking low enough to catch those narrow eyes, finding when glowing a rich, warm topaz – a drastic change from the black orbs they’d been in the Throne Room. “Explain it to me, fully. Seunghyun didn’t tell me anything.”

“They thought I was born Void.” Daesung averted his eyes when Jiyong tensed. “Yes, a babe with no soul. Usually Void babes are also born Still, but I was not. I lived like that for years until I saved King Choi from an assassination attempt by accident.”

“How did you do something so brave by accident?”

Daesung shrugged. “I just knew the man was bad and I stuffed a rock down the barrel of his gun. When it blew up, the other assassin fled. Lord Choi’s horse startled, though, and fell down a ditch. It was fine and fled, but he was left there with a broken leg. Or he should have.”

“Should have?”

“Seunghyun broke his leg.” Daesung’s voice had gained an authority to it, a factual sense. “I took away the damage.”

“How?”

“Void, soulless children are Stillborn always. What they assumed was no soul was just the absence of a human soul. I imagine a human soul and one of a spirit of empathy feel very different.”

“Is that how you took away the damage? With your soul-spirit’s magic?”

“The injury didn’t disappear.” Daesung winced. “The moment his leg was back together, mine broke.”

Jiyong held Daesung as he whimpered, bruises molting across his body as the father of the servant boy downstairs laid another drunken beating on the boy.

“Why did Seunghyun give you to me, Dae?”

“The punishments for slaves there is much more severe then those for servants here. All of the punishments would appear on my body and there was nothing Seunghyun could do to help me. He thought I would be safer here, healthier and happier.”

Jiyong through his thick hair again, nosing his forehead. “Was he right?”

“I believe so.”

“Do you like being here?”

Daesung looked up at him, nosing his chin until he looked down enough to get a soft kiss, those lips overtaking his with a soul-shattering gentleness that never failed to break Jiyong’s heart. How could someone who regularly underwent this much pain be so wonderful, so hopeful, so happy?

“I like being with you, Jiyong. This suffering is nothing if I stay at your side and you ease me though it.”

Jiyong curled his smaller body around the younger man and kissed his vanilla-scented hair. “Try to sleep, sweetheart.”

Eyelashes fluttered against his chest and Daesung kissed him once more over the heart before falling away to his dreams.

Jiyong held him.