Minho was the son of a powerful family, the family perhaps closest to the throne. But he felt like he was just one in a sea of many, especially when his eyes would fall on the young king. It was a few years back when the king was still a prince, a face not known to many. He was contained for his protection. That probably made him angry at that tender, rebellious age, and no wonder, Minho often saw him wield the sword against the air, letting his anger flow out. His strikes were aggressive and Minho often wondered...if the one he was fighting was...perhaps, himself.

He hadn’t realized then, why he would accompany his father to the palace willingly, why he would not sit with him once he entered, but sit under the tree a little far away from where the prince jousted, watching his sword cut through the air in vain.

All he used to do was engrave the prince’s image in his mind, his hair messily gathered in a knot, the strands that were too short to stay put falling back onto his forehead and framing the sides of his face, sweat drenching his robes, his face pink due to his effort.

But there was another image that he wished he could engrave in more than just his mind. The image of the prince asleep under one of the further trees after his joust was done, the gentle breeze lulling him into a sleep that put a peaceful smile on his face, a smile he hardly ever wore when awake. Perhaps, in those few moments of slumber, the prince forgot of his troubles, of the fact that he bore a burdened title, of the reality that he was to face. When he slept, Minho would come closer, sometimes sit under the opposite tree, smiling to himself on seeing his peace.

Minho wished it could last beyond his slumber. Minho wished him to wear that smile and peace even when he was awake. Minho wished nothing in the world was burdensome, painful or dismal, so nothing ever could ruin this peace he saw.

Minho wished a lot of things.

But they only remained in his mind, along with the handsome images he had engraved of his prince. They remained unspoken, along with the many emotions the prince had sparked in his heart.

And he knew he could do nothing about them...because they were fated to be nothing.

It took a while for him to accept his heart, to not fear it. As time had passed, he had realized his heart was his strength. His heart was full of love, unrequited but undivided. All of it, for him to own, for him to revel in, for him to cherish. He didn’t need it to be requited. He didn’t need it to be flaunted, to be known. He was happy that he could love with all his heart because that is what humans were born into the world to do. Love, after all, was a powerful force, beyond the power resting with his family, in the titles of everyone, in riches, in lands.

In greed, in false standards, everything stood misconstrued. But he was quick to understand it, maybe because he had what everyone called “everything”. Power and riches only satisfied one to an extent. What good were they, if you were alone? Broken? They could only temporarily numb your heart, but could never mend it.

Only love had the power to mend the broken.

The kind of love, Minho knew he wouldn’t receive.

So he kept it to himself, to prevent his heart from breaking, to spare himself from a wound that would last a lifetime.

But sometimes he wondered if it really stayed within.

Because his heart stopped momentarily whenever the king passed him, his mind would forget he had to bow down in respect, his eyes would be stuck, until a servant would clear their throat, tearing him from that momentary joy, those few moments he had openly expressed his awe, expressed his love. He would bow down then, trying not to focus on the way his heart paced, afraid it to be loud enough for someone to hear it. For him to hear it.

But he always passed him by without a word. He never bothered to reprimand him on that brief disrespect. Minho knew it was probably because it was not important enough a task. But he couldn’t help but think that perhaps he was important enough a person, to not be reprimanded for simple discourtesy.

Soon enough, he realized, it was love too, that made one guilty of misconstrual.

When the rebellion broke out, Minho watched what he called his entire world, fall. In a blink of an eye, the kingdom was struggling to stand, the officials were against the King.

He is young, naive, weak, ineffective, unfit to be king. We need to pull him down.

When he heard his father speak it, it burnt through his heart into the rest of him, making him unable to stand another word. If only they knew, if only they knew how much he had tried to be the ruler the kingdom needed. If only they knew the life he had led, akin to a prisoner, bearing responsibilities colossal for his age. If only they knew, how much he had endured and still stayed kind. If only they knew how he never smiled, how he lived with a heart burdened. If only they knew that they were now blinded by greed and power, unable to see how worthy he was.

Only Minho knew...how much it might be aching him, to see his kingdom fall apart after having spent all of himself to be the king they had wanted him to.

Next time when the court gathered in the palace, Minho was there. He was there because his heart was clasped with fear, fear of breaking, fear of suffering a wound nothing could heal...fear of losing him.

His fear was rightful. There were arrows disguised in the walls. Ready to leave their bows at one sign. Perhaps, a sign from his father.

He watched them intently, growing closer to the throne. When he noticed them to tighten, almost let loose, he climbed up, in front of the throne. The crowd gasped at his gesture.

The King frowned in confusion, his eyes meeting Minho’s for the very first time...and that was when the first arrow pierced his back and he fell forward, engulfing the king in his arms, shielding him from the arrows that were to come. He could hear an uproar, he could feel more arrows pierce him through, he could feel the pain turn absolute.

“What have you done?” He could finally hear his voice, soft, gentle, void of the cold pride he wore, but it was full of despair as well, “What, what have you done?”

“Protect the King!” He heard soldiers shout, he heard their footsteps, he saw their shadows upon the floor. They were shielding the King now, and he knew, his purpose was served.

“You fool…” He could feel the King’s body shake in his arms.

Minho looked at him, at the fear in his eyes, his true feelings finally unmasked. Tears were b his eyes, they were losing shine in fear, yet amidst it all, he could see the reason for fear.

Minho’s eyes widened. It might have been his misconstrual...it might have been the truth...but within that one moment, and that one moment alone, his heart was requited.