It’s odd to see Galerie Doree back to its former glory, jarring almost.

All the chandeliers have been polished and lit up, a million flickering flames reflected in the endless wall of mirrors, like an extravagant rococo dream that has suddenly been brought into life again.

The attendees are all dressed for the occasion - damask vests and vibrant dancing gowns, diplomatic royals mingling with the few revolutionaries dotting in between. The chatters of the crowds are eerily jovial, as relics of the past waltz beside the rising stars of the new political arena.

There’s wine and powdery perfume in the air, decadent and familiar. If he shuts off his mind just enough, he can pretend that they are back to a moment in the past, and all is well outside of the cozy little bubble they’ve built around themselves.

Too bad, the bubble is ephemeral, can barely last for the night.

Jimin straightens his back, and pulls his gaze away from the boisterous party in the gilded hallway, turning to face the dark courtyard outside. The silhouette beside him follows, like a reassuring shadow that’s never too far away.

He sighs and finally speaks up, “You haven’t heard back from Victoria?”

“No, she never responded to the invite, and the messenger we sent tonight isn’t back yet.” Jin responds, adding after a pause, “I can go check if you prefer…”

“It’s fine. A lot to do here, better if you stay.” Jimin murmurs, tugging on the ruffled collar of his embroidered cotton shirt. The chilly winter air whispers around him and brushes against his skin.

“Maybe she’s on her way, I’m sure we will hear from her soon.” Jin’s voice is calm, as he inches closer and drapes the silk brocade coat in his hand over Jimin’s shoulders.

The weight of the lined coat is comforting, grounding Jimin with warmth. His fingers trace the familiar outline of the ring on his left hand, feeling the grooves of the setting and the polished surface of the gem.

He knows every detail of the ring by heart, yet something about the courtyard in the moment, isolated and chilling, makes him pull it off his finger for a closer look.

The pale blue gem gleams in his hand, against the flickering light and waves of clamor from the grand hall. He thumbs at the fleur-de-lis engraved on the inside, as a muted sigh escapes from the back of his throat.

“I should really keep this at Rambouillet…” he murmurs, seemingly to himself.

“Sometimes it doesn’t hurt to keep what’s important to us close by.” Jin’s figure is courteous to a fault, but his voice soft and gentle.

Jimin smiles at the words, “That’s a nice thing to say.”

An image flashes across his mind, of mother’s pale profile, and two rings in her open palm. Her eyes shone with fondness and something more, something wistful and deeply personal, of which he couldn’t comprehend until years later, “Two gems cut from the regent’s Tavernier Blue - one for you, one for Taehyung. I wish for both of you the happiness I never deserved.”

Jimin murmurs, “She wanted us to continue the glory of the two families. And look where we are now, one dead, the other…”

A puppet for the enemy…

“I wouldn’t say so, sir. I think madame would only wish for you to be content and safe.”

Jimin blinks hard, the weight of each word to sinking in. It takes him a moment to respond, “I hope you’re right.”

He breathes in the night air, as the somberness of the night seeps into his mind. The words slip out, finally unguarded, “It's so hard to let go. I miss all of them so much, the ones we’ve lost along the way. But he of them all. I took it for granted all these years, growing up trapped together, wasting our youth away and pretending we had all the time in the world...”

Jin stammers, but pipes up again eventually, voice a little shaken, “Master Taehyung was… he was a part of the family…”

Jimin screws his eyes shut, and allows the onslaught of emotions to rush to the surface.

The brother he’s always wanted, the companion to his rebellion. Everyone knew them as the Princes of Paris, the golden playboys of high society, untouchable in their status. But through all the decadence and mischief, beyond the manipulative games they played together, they were always bonded by something more - the collective knowledge that they will both succumb to the fate of living for their families, used as pawns in a political game that they were born into: Jimin as the half-royal with wealth, and Taehyung as the pure blood prince to support the ruling king.

A cage was a cage, no matter how gilded. But at least they had each other.

Until it was no more.

He wasn’t even allowed to be with Taehyung during his last hours, only a fleeting glance as the armed soldiers dragged him away along with the royal entourage. They were all dispatched like animals, to various holding cells, as ransoms with different price tags. Jimin’s dad bargained and worked through the system to have him released discreetly, but it was too late by then for Taehyung.

How I would’ve given it all to be there in the last moment, just so you wouldn’t be alone. How you’ve always hated to be alone...

The wind blows, ruffling up the withered gardenia bushes in the courtyard. Darkness shrouds his thoughts and muddles the past together with the present.

There are footsteps approaching, making Jimin slot the ring back on his finger quickly and wipe the sorrow off his face.

Jin’s the first to respond, pulling his arms back and bowing to the approaching figure.

“They are all wondering why you’re out here.” The voice is matter of factly.

“Just catching my breath.”

A hum, “They all become insufferably uneasy when you are away. It’s your party after all, you are the bridge between the two worlds that don’t like to mix.”

“Maybe it was a bad idea.” Jimin shrugs, shooting a quick glance at Yoongi’s linen shirt draping loosely over the bony frame and stirring in the wind.

“No, you were right. It’s been a long gloomy winter, people need to be forced out of their hiding places, be shown some friendliness and reminded of who their allies could be.”

Jimin folds over his arms and observes, “Now you sound like me.”

A dry chuckle, “Maybe it’s finally rubbing off on me.”

Jimin frowns as Yoongi’s shoulders shudder in the chilly air. He finds himself striding towards him, pulling off his own coat with knitted brows, “sacre bleu, put this on before you get sick again and make Jin stay up to tend to you.” There’s a muffled snicker from the side, of which they both choose to ignore.

Yoongi’s torso stiffens upon contact, eyes darting towards the grand hall, “Stop making a scene-“

“A bit too late for that, wouldn’t you say.” Jimin rolls his eyes and pulls the coat close, covering the slender shoulders underneath. Next to them, Jin coughs and adds, “Um, I should go fetch another coat…”

Yoongi’s gaze trails behind Jin as he turns to rush back inside, “Sometimes I think he’s judging me not so subtly.”

Jimin’s lips curl into a mischievous grin, “He’d never tell, but if he is, then maybe it’s well deserved.”

Yoongi grumbles, boots shuffling in the damp soil, “Doesn’t matter, it’s obvious that I don’t belong here. No point pretending to be someone else.”

“Why should you, who would challenge you anyways? You’re now the undisputed power, the new untouchable.” Jimin’s words are sharp, but voice flat and devoid of emotions.

A grimace, “it has nothing to do with power. You know I don’t care for that. It’s just - “ a muted exhale, “- I struggle with everything you are born with. The charm and confidence, the ease to dissect all the literature, down to all these damn dances with the confusing steps -“ he gestures at the hall, as music ebbs out, enchanting melodies full of court rigueur.

“This?” Jimin listens, it’s a slower song, somber and old fashioned, calling for an antiquated dance style. “Sarabande, I remember having to practice the steps as a kid.”

“That’s what it’s called? Well, they all look stuffy and and impossible to remember.” Yoongi rubs his face wearily, and shoots up in surprise when Jimin pulls him by his sleeve.

“It’s not hard, there are a few dozen steps but pretty simple. I can teach you if you want?”

Yoongi’s eyes flicker, and he’s pulling away, retracting defensively like the hedgehog he is.

There’s a surge of smug satisfaction, watching his eyes widen, lips worrying between his teeth. A general afraid of a simple dance, if only people know.

Jimin doesn’t give him the chance to back out, but instead, he pulls on Yoongi’s arm and nudges his back with the other hand, “Look, it starts with a courtesy. Keep your back straight, and your hands in clapping position up on one side.”

Yoongi groans and pulls the sleeve away, but reluctantly, he raises his hands and props his chest up, “Fine. And then?”

Jimin tilts his head appreciatively, and continues, “And then you count for a beat, then hop up to the spot to tour right and turns your torso to face the other side. See -“ he hops effortlessly, and gestures, “- simple.”

“Simple.” Yoongi rolls his eyes, but follows suit. His lips are pursed tightly, eyes squinting in focus.

“Not bad. Two more beats, then you raise both arms and bend down to do a little flourish, like this.” Jimin demonstrates, and comments as he watches Yoongi mirror his movement, “No no, arms up higher, here-“ he rushes towards him, and taps Yoongi from underneath, forcing his arms to shift up.

Yoongi blushes, “Got it. Alright, just move on, try to finish before every single person inside is staring at us, please.”

“It’s fine, when have they not stared.”

All his life, he’s been in the spotlight, playing a role, living through the whispers and scrutiny of the public. Jimin shrugs off the thought, willing himself to forget it all and enjoy the moment.

How exquisite it is to be alive, and dance under the wintery stars, with someone that makes him smile and relax just a little.

“You know, back when I learned to dance, my teacher always had a ruler in hand, with papa’s permission of course.” He only received the sting of the reprimand several times, before making up his mind to never make a mistake again.

Yoongi gives pause to his movement, “I didn’t know a prince could get such harsh treatment for dance lessons.”

“You know as well as I do that Prince of Lamballe is a titre de courtoisie - a prestigious name that has no sovereign power. Even the legitimacy of our lineage had been revoked before, something a real du sang royal would never let us forget.” Jimin scoffs, feet resuming to the music lazily, reciting the steps mechanically in subdued motion, “We had to be better than all the rest of them, Victoria and I, just to quell the open mockeries. Papa never made our lives any easier, but in a way, he prepared us for what we had to face inevitably in life. I suppose I should be grateful.”

He drags out the last words, letting the syllables slide off his tongue languidly and dissipate into the night.

“You’re still a prince though.” Yoongi’s voice is close to him, he can almost see the faint puffs of his breath, feel the heat of his gaze, as he continues, “We’ve all gone through a lot… I walked by this palace many times, as a kid scrambling to make a living on the street. There were guard dogs by the gate for a while, weren’t there? I assure you I’ll never forget them… didn’t ever want to be back here…” his hand pulls up to the collar of his shirt, finger brushing against the scars underneath absently.

Jimin feels the air turning tense at the words. Questions dangle by his tongue but they are stuck, growing heavier with each elapsing second.

Yoongi sighs and continues, “It doesn’t matter anymore, none of it does. We are who we are - the past, our future, it’s all fated. I was so naive, destroying the old regime doesn’t change a thing. We are our own enemies, won’t ever escape the collective guilt and greed…”

Their eyes meet, and Jimin suddenly realizes that they’ve been so close to each other the whole time, bodies in sync and moving to the rhythm shared between just the two of them, motions echoing each other.

They’ve been dancing together since the first time they met, following and guessing each other’s steps, fighting, observing, until the world recedes to the back, until hatred is dulled by familiarity, and loneliness weakens their defense.

Jimin reaches in and rests his hand on Yoongi’s arm gingerly, “Hey, it’s fine. Just get through it one day at a time. Winter’s bound to be over soon.”

Yoongi’s eyes shine with the reflection of the candlelights in the distance, as he glances at the blue ring gleaming on Jimin’s finger. His lips part, and it seems to take him all the strength to whisper out a response, “I may be stuck in this mess until the bitter end, but it’s different for you. Maybe there’s a life for you eventually outside of the city walls, where you can finally be free. I owe you this much…”

Jimin frowns. Just as he’s about to retort, commotion spills out from the grand hall. They turn to see Jin running towards them with the messenger boy sent to find Victoria. When they finally make their way to them, the gravity on Jin’s face makes Jimin’s heart sink.

No, please…

“Masters, Princess Victoria - she -“ Jin stutters between laboured breaths.

“What happened, speak up.” Yoongi steps closer to Jimin.

The messenger wipes the sweat off his forehead, and eyes them with defeat, “Princess Victoria has been arrested by the city police, enroute to the dungeon at the Conciergerie. There was a carriage intercepted near the back entrance of Tuileries Palace. The chauffeurs confessed to a plan to sneak the king and queen out of Paris. They specifically named the princess as one of the sponsors…”

Dread bubbles up Jimin’s heart rapidly, taking over his senses, dulling the presence as his mind becomes paralyzed. He sees the sternness in Yoongi’s gaze, as he towers over the messenger and starts to fire rapid questions. The huddled figures of the crowd in the grand hall gawk and whisper in his peripheral.

There’s a voice reverberating on his mind, quiet but insistent, like a disease that’s long taken root:

This was always how it was going to end, no matter how hard you fretted. Precious things were meant to be destroyed, and you failed.

⚜️

The hours of the night slip away in a blur, faster than Jimin could gasp, but at the same time, each minute ticks away excruciatingly slow, as he drowns in the powerlessness.

The party crowds have long dissipated, and all the servants have been ordered to settle down. He hides in his room, staring out of the window absently, heart beating wayward.

There’s a knock on the door, hesitant but unmistakable.

Jimin almost wants to turn him away, but his words tremble and fade at the thought, the thought that maybe Yoongi brings news.

Something, anything. He’ll take any sliver of hope at this point, however false.

Quiet footsteps. The familiar slender figure slides in, shoulders stiff and eyes impassive, “She’s confirmed to be in prison, in an individual cell.”

Jimin flinches at the words, and tries hard to curb the apprehension, “Can you get her out?”

Yoongi shakes his head, and walks towards him, stopping just short, “Everyone in Paris has heard of what happened by now. The assembly wants to make an example out of her and the royals involved, it’s all optics at this point.”

Of course, fear is what keeps the mob in check, allowing power to remain with those in control.

“Can you at least help her get a public trial?”

A hesitation, but Yoongi speaks up eventually, “Not likely. You know as well as I do how much of a crime this incident was - the royal family pretending to cooperate with the assembly publicly, and plotting to escape behind their back. The chauffeur even confessed to the interception point near Normandy, in Prince of Conde’s territory. Victoria was clearly involved, along with the other names in the confession, a trial would just be further embarrassment for the assembly.”

“Of course…” Jimin’s words trail off, fisted hands droop by the sides.

Silence. Time slips away by the second, he can almost feel the dreaded rays of dawn beyond the horizon. Suddenly, Jimin wishes the darkness would last forever, however suffocating, however powerless. It’s better than the glaring brightness of the day, when her life will be snuffed out at any given moment.

His petit canard, the last shred of hope tethered to the past… Images of the execution he’s witnessed flash across his mind - the despair and denial, the trudging of lifeless bodies towards the demise. The moment of the guillotine drop is always surreal, a gastily attempt at some semi-semblance of an impersonal and resolute end.

But it’s never that clean cut, the scarlet blood that’s indelible on the mind, the last shuddering breath stretching into the silence of the night. Death is never absolute. It haunts the living, fills their reminisce with tendrils of regret, never letting go.

“Hey, it’s ok. Take a deep breath, you won’t be able to help her in this state.” The ginger touch of a hand on his back jolts him out of the spiraling thoughts.

“There’s got to be another way. Something we haven’t tried, someone I could talk to. I’m not giving up, I can’t - I -“ Jimin moves away and clenches his shaky hands, struggling to find the right words.

“Certainly, there are always other channels we can try. But -“

“But what?” Jimin snaps around to face him.

Yoongi tilts his head and doesn’t respond. Jimin flinches at the silence, “Just say it, say what’s on your mind.”

“You know as well as I do, that Victoria is not the only one in danger now.” Yoongi loosens his coat slowly, shoulders slouched, “The assembly hasn’t made a move on you, because I’m here. But they will call me in, today or tomorrow, it’s only a matter of time. And once they get me out of the way somehow, both you and your father will be arrested.”

Jimin flips his hair up and retorts, “So we still have a day. I’ll find a way - all the family assets, all the properties, jewelries, bank notes accounting for practically half of the royal bank - surely it’ll buy us some more negotiation time…”

“Stop. You know that won’t make any difference to the assembly. They would never negotiate with someone that has no basic rights in their eyes.” Yoongi inches closer, before continuing resolutely, “It’s over. You need to get out while you still can. Maybe there’s a way to sneak you through the city gate before dawn-“

Jimin’s eyes widen, “You want me to just run away? Abandon my family and run for my life like a coward?”

Yoongi huffs, “It has nothing to do with emotions. You have to admit defeat and protect yourself, it’s the only way to preserve your family’s lineage. And I’m still here. I’ll help your dad plead to surrender all his titles and live out his last years at chateau Rambouillet. It’ll be a gentler form of imprisonment, the assembly might consider him harmless enough.”

Jimin tilts his chin and raises his voice, “I’m not abandoning them, never. Not when they need me the most. All this time, I’ve stayed out of harm’s way and watched as people were slaughtered, one after another. I did nothing, not even when Taehyung was-“ he in a sharp inhale, and steadies himself, “What good is self preservation, if I lose everyone that matters to me. And what would they do to you after all this? How would you sever your ties from us?”

“I’ll find a way, there’s always a way.”

“Is there? Or you never had plans to escape all this, always accepted the fact that you will die within these city walls, if not by the royals, then by your own kind.”

Yoongi’s lips part but no work comes out.

Jimin scoffs, “Self preservation... You are such a damn hypocrite. I’m staying, they can throw me in the same cell as Victoria, I’m fine with that.”

The light in Yoongi’s eyes swirls and flickers, “Stop being so stubborn. You think you’ll make it in that dungeon, with all the torture they put people through, just to laugh as they fall from grace? Or you prefer watching her suffer beside you, fighting for food with rats, fending off the guards that toy with her? You can’t even imagine what it feels like to be treated like an animal, like you are worth nothing, because you’ve never had to experience it. They will break both of you, sooner or later. There’s no glory in pretending to be a hero.”

Jimin resists, yet the words draw chills in his heart. He looks towards Yoongi, trying in vain to spot a shred of vulnerability, trying to decipher emotions hidden behind the impassive facade.

Yoongi steps away from the window and turns away. His silhouette is cast in a faint glow against the flickering lamplight. Jimin sneers, “I know you’re trying to scare me off. It won’t work, not that easily. What else you got, hmm? Lay your cards on the table, before we all run out of time to speak ever again.”

When Yoongi finally speaks again, his voice is strangely calm, “Taehyung, the first prince of Orléans, he was really close to you, right?”

Jimin gasps, feeling the air knocked out of his chest. He forces out a muted hum.

“I do remember him, because he requested to speak to me on that day. He did something very foolish, so dangerous that it almost cost his life.”

The words fall but Jimin can’t comprehend. It feels like gazing into a fog, mind muddled and unsure of what’s within the haze, heart pounding in his chest, unprepared for the inevitable, “What do you mean by that? Taehyung is dead. You - one of you ordered him killed that day…”

Yoongi is looking away, into reverie, “He had a chance to run away, a maid at the palace almost snuck him out of the servant’s exit inconspicuously. But he came back and asked for my audience, gave me every piece of information he had on the royal family - layout maps of escape tunnels, hiding spots of their confidantes who may mount an attack, down to the whereabouts of two of the critical royal members that managed to escape prior to the march. He gave up all the information willingly, as long as I promised to spare another prisoner, a viscount from the northern province.”

It all feels like a dream, a nightmare he’s suddenly fallen into, and Jimin drowns within it, as shock courses through his veins, “So you’re telling me he grew a heart at the last minute?”

Yoongi nods, “I was ordered to reduce the amount of royals imprisoned, and killing him would’ve made sense, he did try to escape. But I couldn’t do it. I’m not sure what set him apart from the countless people that fell before him, but in that moment, I just couldn’t. Not when he was offering his life for another, not in the face of such a sacrifice…”

“So the body that was eventually buried was not his…”

“No, just a corpse damaged beyond recognition. I let him go, under the condition that he will never come back to Paris, never use his name again.”

The news didn’t bring relief, but hollows him out from the inside. Jimin’s hand reaches for the writing desk next to him, desperate for support, as his breath turns laboured and vision blurred by mist.

Anguish wells up from the inside and finally bubbles over. The tears gush out uncontrollable, soaking up his shirt, making a mess of it all, “This whole time, you could’ve told me, spared me the pain…”

The response is whisper quiet, “You know I can never admit to falsifying an execution. Knowing the truth will only put you at risk.”

Then why tell me now? Why give me hope when all is lost, to stretch out my suffering when I’m ready to give up...

“I will never forgive you, this doesn’t change anything.” Jimin spits out the words wearily, unsure if they are meant to hurt, or to reassure himself. And there’s no retort, no icy snappy retaliation. Yoongi stands next to him, as silence fills the space between them, saved for Jimin’s ragged breaths. Eventually, Yoongi’s hand lands on his shoulder gingerly, the faint heat of the touch bringing solace, no matter how much Jimin denies it, “But now, you have a reason to get out there.”

Jimin looks up, and spots the gentle glimmer in Yoongi’s gaze, his pale skin covered in a thin layer of sweat against the light, “Get out and find him, there’s always hope. Your life was never about the world you lived in, but always the people instead, the people you cared deeply for. So go and find him, leave all this behind while you still have a chance.”

Yoongi’s voice is placid, hand resting on Jimin’s shoulder with featherlight touch. How rare to see his smile, and the look of relief in his dark brown eyes, at the realization that one of them can escape this fate.

One of them.

No…

Jimin calms his erratic breaths, and pushes his head up. He feels a tinge of longing when Yoongi retracts his hand and looks away.

He should be elated that Taehyung is still alive, but something else is lodged in his heart, making all the words too ponderous to be uttered.

He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, and forces out a murmur, “I’m not leaving until everyone I care about is safe.”

To his surprise, there’s no more objection. Instead, the lamp flickers, as the chill of the night air settles once again. Yoongi’s muted response drops in the dark, like a fleeting thought Jimin has half dreamt up on his mind, “Then we will see to it that they are.”