The room is completely still. Chaeyoung's breathing is quiet yet erratic, and Chanyeol knows that he's crossed a line he won't ever be able to tread across again. The act of saying something like that so rashly, so angrily, it will leave a sour taste in the king's mouth for years. It will make Chanyeol even more unfavorable in his eyes -- it will make him a target, as if he the bounty placed on his happiness wasn't enough. 

"Once again, I will ignore your ridiculous request. Do not test me a third time." 

“My siblings both left the palace,” Chanyeol’s voice is cracking, tender and raw and scared, eyes flitting between the king’s angry glare and Baekhyun’s shaking lips. He wonders if the woman next to him has noticed the visitor lurking outside of the dining hall, has figured out who his heart belongs to, truly. “They both found someone who made them happy outside of it. They were allowed to leave.” 

It's painfully clear that his new fiancé didn't know this about him. She turns from her seat at the words, eyes blown wide and staring at him in disbelief, and Chanyeol wonders if she'd even known whom she was on her way to meet, to marry, when she'd first come. It makes him angry to think of how forced this is, to think of the way she is shaking right now, to think of patching his heart over with someone new like the king so wants. The goal of Chaeyoung marrying him is to cover the crinkle of Baekhyun's soft eyes, to stop the peaceful song that he threads through Chanyeol's mind when it gets hard to focus on reality. He doesn't want it. He wants Baekhyun, wants to send Chaeyoung home, wants to breathe again. 

“Your brother and sister did not have the same mother as you,” he spits out the word as if its dirty, and it stabs at Chanyeol in ways that makes his skin prickle. “I had no fear that they would turn a revolt against me. I do not know what you will do if you are not in the palace. Your heart is weak and your mind is weaker -- corruption is easy.” 

Chanyeol is painfully aware of how deep this insult cuts him, at the way the pain spreads to the tips of his fingers. There was no memory of his mother that hadn't been clouded by fear and distrust, by the way everyone stilled at her name like it was forbidden to be spoken. For so long, Chanyeol had feared that she had cursed her only child to a life of isolation, even among hundreds of people in the palace -- he'd feared that his being born was an unfortunate side effect of her existence, and that he would spent eternity apologizing for it.

He had always felt this very same pain when the king looked at him, always sensed the resentment settled in his eyes. He supposes that maybe, to his family, Sehun wasn't in the wrong, after all. In the eyes of the king and the law -- maybe Chanyeol had deserved a punishment, a scare. He had gotten too happy, too comfortable in his own skin, too embroiled in Baekhyun's affection, and it was his cousin's duty to drag him down again, to bring him to the depths that the king wanted. 

He drags his eyes away from the king’s shaking hands to watch Baekhyun’s face turn hard, stiff, angry at the cruel words being thrown toward him. The man's concern jabs him like a thousand knifes, and he wants to cry, wants to feel those hands steadying him, wants to be comfortable and protected in his embrace again. He longs to be anywhere but here, but the thought of his mom's shaky hands painting him on her canvases, of her tiny house in the mountains where all that mattered was her garden and her young son, he stands firm.  

“I’m not corrupted! My mother wasn’t either,” he’s losing his grip on formality, and he feels Chaeyoung’s eyes burning into him with the power of a thousand suns. He shouldn't talk to the king like this, shouldn't let his eyes convey such fire, shouldn't defend someone that the government labeled a traitor. “She loved my father and she loved me. She got sick. She didn't do anything. Don’t talk about her.” 

“There is something evil that flows in your veins. The imprint of rebellion is still on you from your uncle. You still view yourself as above the law, above my word.” 

Chaeyoung’s hand trails out, latching onto the hem of Chanyeol’s shirt, so soft and timid. He turns to meet her eyes, reading the words conveyed in them as if they were written in front of him: Stop. 

He probably should, honestly. He probably should resign himself to faking love to this woman, to holding her delicate hand and brushing long hair behind her ears. He could probably even convince himself that he loved her, if he tried hard enough, if he forced himself to forget what sunshine felt like against his skin, if he blocked out all memories of kissing like air and moving like water. But Baekhyun’s stare had never left him, eyes intense and fierce, hands rough against the door handle. There was nothing waiting for him in Chaeyoung’s round eyes, nothing burning under his skin that left him breathless when she reached out for him, nothing that compared to the thrill Baekhyun's every movement instilled in him. 

“I do not view myself as above you,” he restrains the anger, reigns in his shaky breathing, and feels Chaeyoung’s hand go slack, leaving him to fight alone. It's for the better, he knows. “I have never protested your words before. I spent years locked away, alone, and I spent years in France learning how to be friends with loneliness. I let you do that to me, and I took it, in order to pay for my uncle’s sins. But I cannot give up my happiness, not again.” 

At this, the king stands, too. He's not as tall as the prince, but he has an aura of superiority. There's a fear of this man and his demands that has been so readily instilled in Chanyeol, that makes him break out in a sweat and resist stumbling back a few feet. He can't run, not with Chaeyoung's confused eyes watching their exchange, not with Baekhyun's anxiety sizzling through the door and into his chest, burying itself among the bravery Chanyeol had already exerted. 

He balls his fists as the man takes a step toward him, eyes cruel and dark and engulfing. Chanyeol doesn't think he can look away if he tried, but he's not trying, not when his height and eye contact is the only intimidation factor he has left. There's a steady bead of sweat trailing down the back of his dress shirt now, and he focuses on how itchy it makes him feel rather than the intensity of the king's eyes on him, at the way the older man is drawing closer with a look of such hatred resting in the lines of his face. 

"Happiness is not guaranteed in the palace. You are a prince, and this is your nation. You are either loyal to the throne, or you are a traitor. Do not let happiness make you a traitor." 

He lets out a breath, one that empties him, one that leaves his chest hollow and heart devoid of light. He worries that Baekhyun had heard what the king had said, that the smaller noticed the defeat creeping across his face for the smallest of seconds.

He's scared. He's so scared. He wants Baekhyun but, god, he can't be a traitor. He can't be what they'd made him out to be -- he can't let his mother be remembered as the mother of a traitor, as the sister of a rebel leader, as a disgrace in the royal family. He chokes on nothing, feeling faint and sick and too hot. There's warmth creeping through his limbs and chest, fiery and suffocating. He can't breathe. 

"I am not a traitor," Chanyeol's voice is less firm, and it comes out in gargles, as if he's speaking from underwater, as if he's gasping for any air he can. "I want to be happy. That does not make me a traitor. I am not a traitor." 

He wonders if he's saying it to the king or himself, if he's attempting to rewire the part of his mind that had made him feel so scared, the one that haunted his thoughts, the one that made him use charm in front of officials, made him cover up his inferiority with pointed comments and forced laughter.  It'd been that part of his brain that painted fake smiles and business talk over the canvas of fear and loneliness and anxiety, the one that made him a liar and lead Baekhyun to be so wary of him when they were in public. He should've been honest about his family, about the layers he'd cover himself in, about the way he'd felt that first night he'd laid eyes on Baekhyun. There was too much clouding him now, and his mind is gone, completely haywire with fear and a rumbling anger. 

"Simply telling me that you are not a traitor does not absolve you of what you've done and said today," the king turns to Chaeyoung, and Chanyeol's throat closes. "Your husband will see you later. He needs to leave now. I am tired of this." 

It's as if a flood gate had been opened, and suddenly there's men everywhere, hands on Chanyeol's shoulders and on Chaeyoung's chair, pushing and pulling and sending them flying apart, sending Chanyeol into the arms of a large guard. He panics, eyes searching for familiar eyes through the glass of the dining hall door. Baekhyun's practically screaming on the other side, hands flying toward the door knob, and a new type of desperation claws its way into Chanyeol's throat. 

He shakes his head violently, begging Baekhyun to leave the door alone, to take his hand off of it and not get involved, to stay out of this room and the king's sight. The man with a hold on him is squeezing his arm, hard, and Chanyeol lets out a scared whimper. Chaeyoung is angry -- she is yelling at the guards, squirming away from being touched, refusing to rise from her seat. Chanyeol's mind flashes red as he watches them drag the girl from where she is seated, and the sickening revelation that he'd done that hits him so suddenly that he feels lightheaded.

He's made a mess, and it hadn't helped, and Baekhyun is still hovering near the door, eyes wide and filling with tears. He's too close, Chanyeol realizes, and he feels dread seeping into his body, making his limbs heavy. He knows Baekhyun will be seen and dragged away. They will be pulled apart again, and Chanyeol can't bear to think about these men having a grip on him, rough and unforgiving and merciless by order of the king. 

"I hadn't even made the call yet. Thank you for your promptness," the king smiles at one of the guards fondly, a gentle hand resting on his wide shoulder. Chanyeol hates the twist in his gut that makes him wish he'd received that treatment from the man even once in his life, a pitiful hope that he wants to eradicate from his mind.

Even in the chaos of Chaeyoung shouting and the guards scrambling to grab onto the tall prince, he watches in horror as Baekhyun twists the handle and mouths his love's name, face crumpling and body caving in on himself. Chanyeol, he mouths fitfully, barely stepping into the room, quiet as a mouse to everyone except the taller. He's booming to the prince, loud and clear, voice ringing through his head as if their thoughts had melded together. Chanyeol, please, Chanyeol. 

He can't think of a sight that hurts more than this, can't picture a moment that will haunt him more. Baekhyun's clawing toward him, steps small in this big room, and it feels as though each step is a mile. He's too far, too close, and Chanyeol wants him to run. He needs to look for Minseok. He needs to leave this room before they're on him, before he can't do anything but watch as the smaller is pinned down on the floor. He's a trespasser on royal grounds, and Chanyeol feels sick at the thought of what that might entail for the shorter.

Baekhyun, he's pushing against the man holding onto him, hoping that no one can make out these words except the smaller. He needs him to be safe, to find a way to leave -- Chanyeol will follow, somehow. Baekhyun, go. Find Minseok.

Baekhyun stops in his tracks, still so close to the doorway, still unnoticed, and Chanyeol nods as hard as he can, pushing back against the guard once again. It's violent and jumbled, but he knows what his next words need to be, what will convince the smaller to leave this chaos behind, and so he musters up all his strength and pushes the guard completely off of him, arms covering himself defensively. Go. I love you.

Chaeyoung's finally stopped yelling, and when Chanyeol looks to his left, she's gone. It's just him and the guards and the king, Baekhyun's tiny figure closer to the door once again, face red with sobs that are being held in. He can't look at the smaller directly, not when the ruckus has quieted down and he's noticable. Baekhyun steps out, back into the hall, and Chanyeol feels his muscles go slack against the guard, tired breaths mingling with the mumbles among the men. 

Though his body has given up momentarily, the prince's mind is on high-alert, ears flooded with the sound of his own heartbeat as he searches for Baekhyun in the hall. He's there, tracks of tears evident even from this distance, and he mouths a simple I love you before he's turning and sprinting away. Chanyeol truly relaxes for the first time in an hour, deflating as suddenly as he'd stood up for himself, legs jelly at the thought of what would've happened if Baekhyun had been seen, at the thought of what will happen if the boy is caught in the halls.

"Take him back to his room," the king sounds resigned, tired, and Chanyeol wants to laugh, despite the ache in his heart and bones and head. The king was tired? "He needs to learn to take orders. There is no room for misbehavior or treachery in these palace walls."

"I renounced my title," Chanyeol's gasping out. "I don't want it. I'm not a traitor -- I just want to be happy. I don't want to be locked up again, not when he makes me happy, makes me feel like I'm actually living." 

The guards don't stop their march toward the door Baekhyun had just disappeared from, refuse to slow down despite Chanyeol's feet dragging and kicking with each meter they cross. He feels like a child, begging, but it's okay -- he never got the chance to be a child. He'd never thrown tantrums, not when he'd been forced to grow up all too quickly, when he'd lost the two most precious people in his life in the first decade. Maybe he'd been boiling inside for years, and maybe this was the point when it got dangerous, when he let his anger overtake him, voice hoarse and eyes wet. 

Maybe he'd have done this in Paris if he had anyone to talk to, anyone to lash out at. Maybe he would've taken it out on Sehun if he hadn't held himself back so many times in the past years. Maybe he'd have taken it out on Baekhyun if those eyes weren't so enchanting, if he hadn't felt enamored the moment they'd met. Maybe he'd have taken it out on himself if there wasn't an angel waiting for him somewhere in this world, if there wasn't a fear of letting down the few people he'd ever loved. Maybe he'd never have done anything -- he doesn't know himself well enough to decide.

"I am not a prince! I told you! I renounce my title! Let me go!" 

He's screaming, and he hopes that someone else hears. He hopes for Jongin's large frame to barrel into the room, angrily ripping hands off of him. He wants Joohyun's voice to raise and defend him, for her tiny hands to place themselves between him and the guards. He longs for his father to be here, to stand up for him at least once in his life. He dreads fighting alone, fears the drop in his stomach at the tiny chuckle the king lets out. 

"You are saying this in haste," he shakes his head, and motions for the guards to leave once again. "For royalty, the palace is their entire life. You need to learn that and make up for what your family has done. Do not add fuel to the fire. There is no room to slack, Prince Chanyeol." 

And then they're dragging him out, violent and strong and too quiet. Chanyeol's mind fills with worry for Baekhyun, for their future, for the turmoil that he's positive is filling the pair to their brim. 

--

Baekhyun's ripping each door open, voice loud and hoarse as he calls out for any cousin he can find. He doesn't care anymore. The guards can catch him, he thinks bitterly -- nothing matters right now except finding someone else on his side, of getting his prince back in his arms, safe and calm. 

"Minseok!" Baekhyun is screaming. He knows that he's not in Chanyeol's wing anymore, knows that the lilac walls on this side of the palace are confusing and new to him. "Jongin! Kyungsoo! Joohyun!" 

There's no response, and he rounds the corner into another, wider, hallway. It's filled with specks of dark gray marble and gold and silver, all tied together with a runner that boasts gold and purple flowers, deep violets twisting against pale ivory, stark contrasts and dramatic flare evident. It is nothing like Chanyeol's easygoing baby blue or the palace's summery orange walls and white marble. 

It strikes an uncomfortable familiarity in him, and suddenly he's filled with a sinking feeling -- this is not the wing he should be in. He needs to leave, needs to find a hall that is deep green, one filled with pastel paintings, one that rings with Jongdae's laugh, one that reeks of flowers and perfume and champagne. Any other place, any other person, any other situation -- he needs to leave, he tells himself frantically. 

He spins in place and starts to turn the corner once again, heading back toward any other place in the palace, when he's met with a sturdy chest in his face. There was someone waiting behind him, he realizes belatedly, and he hadn't heard them approach over the sound of his own panicked breathing. From his angle against the chest, he can recognize a sharp, pale jawline, and he stumbles back, heart beating so tempestuously that he feels the room pulsing along with it.

"Why are you here? What's wrong?" Sehun's voice is silky sweet, and Baekhyun chokes on the fake affection infusing the air. "Don't cry. You look so pretty when you cry, but it's sad." 

"Don't come near me." 

"Why are you so agitated? You came to my wing. I should be the one who's defensive." 

Baekhyun wants to yell at him, scream, curse him out -- but he knows that he doesn't have time, that somewhere in the palace, Chanyeol is being dragged along, that there's only a few minutes until his prince is locked away again, this time probably for good. He can't spend his time fighting Sehun's knowing face, his smug smile, his condescending gaze. 

Instead, Baekhyun braces his good hand and throws himself into a punch, landing it squarely on Sehun's cheek. The taller yelps and grabs for his face, stumbling back a few feet, angered. Baekhyun likes the adrenaline rush he feels, savors the shock and fear clouding Sehun's ever-confident eyes. He wants to do it again, wants to make him bleed, wants to get payback for years of pain that he'd caused Chanyeol, but he doesn't have time, not right now, not when the balance in the palace is slipping so rapidly from his fingers.  

" you," he spits it out, literally, watching Sehun's pained expression turn to one of disgust as he feels the wet on his cheek, eyes flaming. Baekhyun likes how red he looks like this when he's furious, when he clashes with the purple walls, looking out of place among the grandeur. He looks pathetic. 

Then the smaller is gone from the hallway and the taller boy's vision, sprinting as though his life depends on it, head spinning and hand tingling. He feels a little more free, and it's only when he bounds around a corner and into a corridor painted dove gray, photographs of attractions around the world showcased on each centimeter available, does he realize that he's found what he needs. This isn't Minseok's wing, he can feel that it isn't, but he recognizes the airy photographs and serious undertones easily. 

"Junmyeon!" Baekhyun's voice is so loud, so desperate, and he's running toward the large door at the end of the hall with all his might. There's a guard in the middle of the hall, but Baekhyun ignores him -- it doesn't matter if he's caught, as long as he can tell the older what's happening, as long as he can assure that Chanyeol is safe. He trusts Junmyeon, trusts his kind eyes and his high position, as he's the only prince among the cousins that has a true chance of ruling one day, the only one who might have real sway with the current king. 

"Junmyeon!" he bangs on the door feverishly, registering how raw his voice sounds, how wet his cheeks are. He'd been sobbing and screaming for the last ten minutes, and his chest heaves violently as he catches his breath against the large white door. He can hear the guard making his way over, and he panics, voice raising an octave. "It's Baekhyun! I need you! Chanyeol is in trouble! Please, Prince Junmyeon!"

There's a hand grabbing his shoulder, sudden and strong, and Baekhyun flinches against it. He's caught, and Junmyeon is either gone or ignoring him altogether -- he wants to sob, wants to fight the hand off and find Minseok, but he's so tired. 

"He is with me," the commanding voice is only vaguely familiar, as if he'd only met the person once or twice, but he recognizes it immediately -- the crown prince himself. "Hands off." 

Junmyeon is at the end of the hall, suit pressed and perfect, face exasperated. He looks tired, exhausted, but he spares a tiny smile to Baekhyun and a lingering glare to the guard's hold on the smaller. At the eye contact, the man's hand draws back quickly, bowing immediately, muttering apologies that go unanswered by the prince. His aura is too powerful, and Baekhyun finds himself staring at a picture of Italy to distract from the sudden dominance that Junmyeon had exerted. He wonders if he should've even come here, if Junmyeon was a good choice to save his husband -- being next in the line of succession might've made him more loyal to the king than anyone, Baekhyun realizes, gulping his anxiety down in a shaky breath.

"Come inside," Junmyeon gestures to the door, one last lingering look sent to the guard.

This prince is frightening, Baekhyun decides, but it is only because he is so sure of his power, of his position. He makes Baekhyun feel small -- but maybe that's what a prince should do, after all.

He bows to the older, flushing when he brushes the formality away with the palm of his hand to the air, a stilted shrug forming on his stiff shoulders. "Please, don't." 

They walk into Junmyeon's large room (much larger than Chanyeol's, Baekhyun notes with slight wonder) and he watches in silence as the taller takes off his outer coat and sets down some files on the desk. He's taking his time, quietly contemplating something, and Baekhyun is too frightened to break this silence, even as pleas of save Chanyeol, he's hurt and crying and alone claw their way at his throat and chest.

"Minseok will be here soon," Junmyeon nods toward the door, as if indicating that he should arrive any second, as if this entire day was premeditated and scheduled down to the minute. "As far as I know, the guards that intruded at breakfast went well. I do not think the king noticed anything was awry." 

Awry? Guards at breakfast? Had Junmyeon already heard of it, already planned around it? He feels the room spinning, but he stares at the leather couch near him, at the way soft red blankets contrast the texture to stay grounded. Everything feels surreal, and suddenly he doesn't know if Junmyeon is good or bad, if Minseok likes him or wants Chanyeol to suffer tenfold. It's all too much, and he wants answers, now.

"Excuse me?" 

"The guards at breakfast. Minseok sent them, of course," Junmyeon purses his lips at the files in front of him, tilting his head to the side. He's too collected, too calm, and it sends Baekhyun's nerves into overdrive once again. "He heard that your prince would be attending breakfast with his newest fiancé, and he assumed that the king would disagree with whatever he pleaded for. It is much easier to send our own guards than rescue Chanyeol from the king later." 

"You both got him out of there?" his hands tingle, relief dancing through his lungs, the thought of Chanyeol's panic earlier only a faint, burning reminder of the pain that had scorched his chest minutes before. Hearing that the younger was okay was all he needed -- the news cools him down, pours water over the sweltering remnants of his peace of mind. "He is with Prince Minseok? He is safe?" 

"Chanyeol has always been like our little brother," he moves forward to grab a seal off his desk, leaving his approval on whatever piece of writing is in front of him. "We want him to be happy, of course. You were a breath of fresh air for the palace and, more importantly, him." 

Baekhyun feels a wave of peace sweep over him, so sudden that he thinks he must be dreaming it. The last time he'd felt this calm was the night before, when Chanyeol's hands had held him so close, when there was nothing on his mind besides the soft sound of their breathing against each other. He is safe, Baekhyun tells himself, chanting it like a prayer. He is safe.

"Thank you, prince Junmyeon," Baekhyun knows that his eyes are misty, but there's no shame, not when the prince looks back at him calmly, always collected, a tiny smile on the corner of his lips. "You and Prince Minseok both -- I owe you the world." 

"You owe me nothing. He has suffered enough for things he cannot control. His heart is another thing he can't control, and we couldn't watch him get punished for that, too." 

The door is pushed open, and suddenly everything else melts away besides Chanyeol's beaming smile and relieved voice and long arms wrapping around him. It's warm, to be back in his embrace, and Baekhyun lets himself breathe in his scent deeply, lets the taller bury his head in his neck, both staying completely silent. It's too precious to speak, and Baekhyun flushes bright red when Chanyeol leans in further to leave a tiny kiss on his lips, a kept promise of returning unfolding between the both of them. There's a lot of things unsaid swimming in their eyes, but Baekhyun thinks he understands at least a few of them, thinks he smiles away some of the darker ones, thinks he waters the happier ones and watches them bloom in Chanyeol's eyes.

"Thank you for running," Chanyeol's so quiet against his neck, and Baekhyun knows it's because of the older princes' presence in the room. He's embarrassed, but he's always, always fond, and Baekhyun nods, pecking Chanyeol's chin softly. "I didn't think you would. Thank you for being safe."

Baekhyun doesn't want to ruin this, doesn't want to mar the way the air in the room is so calm right now, but he's suddenly hit with a realization, fear creeping up on him slowly, dreadfully. 

"Sehun knows I'm here," Baekhyun reveals suddenly. He can't believe he forgot, can't believe he didn't think about what the taller will do with this information -- of course, this serenity won't last; it never does, not for long. "That means the king will know soon." 

Chanyeol shakes his head, resolute, and threads their fingers together methodically, eyes soft, teeming with confidence. Maybe it had been scared into him, when he'd finally stood up to the king, when he'd watched Baekhyun sprinting away as if he'd never see him again. There is a new air to Chanyeol, one that doesn't need to hide that he is happy or sad or confident or scared. He is just Chanyeol and it makes Baekhyun's heart constrict before the taller has even spoken, already believing anything that he will tell him. 

"It doesn't matter if the king knows," Chanyeol's voice is deep and careful, articulating everything as well as he can. "I am not a traitor. I know this. I am renouncing my title."

"Of course you're not a traitor," Baekhyun soothes, hand moving to trace his cheekbone, soft and delicate and clenched in stress. "I didn't want to make you give up your title -- I just want us to be happy." 

Chanyeol nods against the hand cupping his face, and he leaves a small kiss on Baekhyun's thumb, right over one of his moles. 

"If I cannot be happy here, I don't want the title. We are going to be happy because we are going to leave. We are going to be happy because we have each other," he smiles, so genuine, and Baekhyun's heart rips itself to shreds. 

"I am going to clear my mother's name. And, when I do that, we can come back -- I am a prince, but I will not represent a family that hates me, not when you are worth so much more. I will only be a prince when this palace deserves me."

Baekhyun lets himself smile at that, radiant, and meets plush lips with his own, knowing that even if their lives are in shambles right now, they have each other to piece it back together. My prince, Baekhyun smiles against his lips, everything will work out. 

--

oh. i updated! oops! wasn't really planning on that. i sat down to plan out the chapter in between chores and.......here we are sldkjfdsljflj

(also psa it wasn't supposed to be angsty for that long,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,sorryskfjsdkfdkfjd)

hope you liked it!!!!!!!!!!!! big scream!!!!!!!! i love you all pls leave feedback bye bye <3

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