And they never forgot their enemies, or their place

Chapter 2

Jimin grimaced.

Laying eyes on it sent memories rushing back to the forefront of his mind, of a hazy room in the Imperial Palace, where his father and grandfather broke with tradition and allowed him to try it on. Jimin could remember being so excited to wear it, seeing it as a grand symbol of his family's absolute authority, a tradition that he'd been honored to be a part of at the time. It didn't occur to him, at the time, that the damned thing weighed ten pounds, and that the set was three or four times bigger than his head.

When he tried it on, he was simultaneously weighed down to the ground, while the crown itself swallowed his head. He could still remember the burning embarrassment as both men pulled that symbol of authority from him, and laughed affectionately.

That sense of embarrassment, coupled with the closeness that he’d felt with his father, and grandfather, cemented it as one of his most cherished memories. Yet, somehow, the fact that it was now passing directly onto his head, and technically entering his ownership, made him feel as if those memories were somehow invalidated.

"I want point-by-point security around the crown at all times," Jimin wanted to tune Captain Yoongi's orders out, but he couldn't help but stay tuned in as he continued to gaze at the Imperial State Crown. "If something takes a shot, if someone thinks that they hear a shot, if someone thinks of shooting, it gets shot, those are your orders."

Jimin leaned closer to the center stone that stat atop of the golden set.

Its exact worth was unknown, though Jimin would wager that its value was comparable to the gross domestic output of a small nation. Hundreds of carats, it drew your eyes to it almost instantly, and the thousands of smaller stones that adorned the set were as pebbles in the contrast. It was easily one of the most valuable diamonds ever discovered on Earth, and perhaps that was why it rested on the State Crown of the Infinite. It was a fitting home, a fitting place to fit a perfect, and utterly flawless, stone.

It was only when the Dean of the Imperial Household began to sputter with unabashed rage, that Jimin felt he needed to intervene. The older man obviously didn't notice his shift in attention, because as he turned, he saw him glaring daggers at his security attaché. The Dean was a proud man, someone who cared for the Imperial State Jewels, and acted as the official who crowned the sovereign during the actual coronation. However, beyond those two duties, he held no more power than any other individual, perhaps maintaining care of the official state jewels made him feel important.

Jimin would remedy that.

"Your Excellency," His voice was cool, and he restrained his satisfaction as the older man turned from Yoongi, and quickly bowed to him. "For as long as you've served the Crown, you should know that the security attaché only cares for its best interests."

The man was a blubbering sycophant, but he did his job well.

"Your Imperial Majesty, this man shows nothing but impudence for the hallowed traditions that come with the coronation," There was a blue blood vessel in the neck of the Dean that seemed to grow with every syllable. "I insist that you remind this peas-…”

But he paid no heed to the man, only shifting the gaze to his ever-silent guard.

It had been less than a week since Captain Yoongi had assumed control of the massive security apparatus around him, and if he was being entirely honest, he could sense some of the differences between how he ran it, and how Jungkook had. It had started with a full-level purge of the old guard, and replacement with new guards handpicked by him. It was a small thing, but it felt like a supremely protective gesture.

It might have been foolish of him, to do this so early in their relationship, but there was something about the other man that made Jimin trust him, almost implicitly. There was no greater trust than to trust someone with your life, and Jimin already trusted him.

Jimin tore his eyes away from the stoic mask of Yoongi, and openly glared at the Dean, “The only peasant in this room that needs to be reminded of their place, is you.”

The only response that he gave, initially anyway, was outraged.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” He was treading dangerously on disrespect. “I must-…”

Jimin held a finger up, “Know your place, Captain Yoongi oversees all of my security, and his word, his orders, are to be obeyed as if they came directly from me.”

“I command it,” He finished, turning from the Dean, to look directly at Yoongi.

He tried to convey everything that was meant to be conveyed behind that order.

Trust was not something that came easily with him, he’d been taught to trust only family, and those that were considered family. As much as they publicly professed to not feel that way, the approach that his family took to the world was very much that a standoffish mentality. As many loyal subjects as there were to the crown, there were those that wanted to see, not necessarily the destruction of his family, but most certainly the abolition of the monarchy. Of course, there were those that wanted to see the end of the monarchy, and there were those that felt that it could only be achieved by his death.

And not only his death, but the murder of his entire family.

That was who Yoongi was charged from protecting him from.

The undermining of the far-less lethal detractors of the monarchy could be dealt with by the intelligence services, but it was purely this man’s job to destroy his enemies.

Captain Yoongi merely nodded, and turned back to the Dean.

As did Jimin.

He watched, silently, as it finally sunk into the man’s mind that he’d been overruled by the one man who could overrule everything. Jimin was the sole human being alive that was above everything, above law, because, for intents and purposes, he was the law. It was fascinating for Jimin to watch, almost, to see how fast someone could go from being an arrogant, prideful, fool, to becoming an obsequious toad.

“As you wish, Your Imperial Majesty,” The Dean bowed at the neck.

“Go,” Jimin waved a finger, and turned back to the crown. “Carry out his orders.”

The Dean bowed, and as quickly as he had shifted from his arrogance into his subservience, he departed the room. Properly chastised, he knew that the prideful Dean would not make trouble for his attaché again, though he knew he’d privately be fuming.

As he turned back to the pedestal, and was once again captured by the hypnotizing allure of the crown, but he did not fail to feel his bodyguard gaze on him.

And he did not bother to ignore the tightening feeling in his gut.

Yoongi would be the first to admit that he came from a humble home.

It was only through his parents work ethic that he'd been able to get into the Imperial Military Academy, it meant having to survive long stretches on nothing but the bare minimum. When he graduated, and was sent out into the service, he hadn't hesitated in paying them back tenfold, when he could, but Yoongi could've hardly imagined the position that he now found himself in. He doubted that he could truly repay his parents for the sight that he was now seeing, it was impossibly valuable, and he was quite possibly the first true low-born in the history of the Infinite to ever witness it.

Three days out from the coronation, and everything was proceeding on schedule, and the security was shaping up to his liking. He had also been trailing Jimin’s every move throughout the whole ordeal, but he'd found that none of the rigmarole that they'd been put through was nearly as interesting, or nearly as provocative, as The Robing.

In the center of the room, protected by a large shroud of sheer tyrian-purple silk, which was suspended at the ceiling, and was supported by a large full-body vanity mirror, Jimin stood as as the day he was born. Yoongi, as of yet, hadn't been exposed to the sight of his Emperor , but he hadn't failed to notice that the two female attendants, who were studiously adorning him with the coronation jewelry, had studiously kept their eyes fixed on their task, rather than gawk on his open ness.

So, had he, for the most part, only given cursory glances to the form of Jimin.

"Leave us," Yoongi's head suddenly snapped back from the doors, a habit from school that he hadn't lost over the years, and to the shroud. The Emperor's tone was soft, and completely teasing. "There are some things that one prefers to do one’s self."

"But, sir, you're not dressed?" Yoongi heard one of them gasp in shock.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"I can dress myself, thank you very much," Jimin's tone took on an imperious quality that Yoongi could not honestly fault him for, but one that he would find that he would have trouble obeying implicitly, even if it was being used by the one being that had a genuine right to use it. "Leave us, and leave the shroud open."

Yoongi chuckled at that, openly, and he made no attempt to hide it from Jimin.

He wondered what it was like, for a moment, to have that sort of power, and to have the ability to use it arbitrarily. As Emperor, Jimin could, in theory, do whatever he wanted to do, and with a mere word, could turn his wildest fantasy into reality. It was the sort of power that people dreamed of, that people spent their whole lives chasing, it was the kind of power that people joked about. Jimin was just born with it, he was destined to have it the moment he came into the world, and in his time with the younger man, Yoongi had observed that he wielded that power with much measure.

He folded his hands behind his back as the shroud opened, and the two attendants rushed to either side of the makeshift cocoon to pin it back. Yoongi wasn't paying attention to that though, he wasn't paying attention to any external influence. There, standing in a pool of silk, and finery, was Park Jimin, in all his glory, and Yoongi couldn't possibly not stare, because the younger man had already tangled him up.

Yoongi truly didn't know where to begin.

His eyes drifted over onto the mirror, and traced the delicate patterns in the Emperor's trim stomach, and the diamond chain that was tied around his slim waist. His eyes drifted down even further to the other man's toned thighs, perfectly smooth, and to, what Yoongi could only think of, as the most perfect that he'd ever seen in his life.

Through the mirror, his eyes went direct to the Emperor's rapidly hardening .

Again, totally shaven.

He quickly forced himself to lock eyes with Jimin, and he found that the entire package was capped by the most blinding of smiles, as their eyes met in the vanity mirror. Yoongi found himself