They had ridden past villages, past the Capitol. The night had deepened yet they did not pull the reins, not until the rider lagging slightly behind called the other loudly.

“Sire!”

Jongin pulled his reins then, halting his horse and the squire followed, letting the hood of his cloak drop, “No matter how fast you ride… we will not reach Seyan in one night.”

Jongin sighed, “Fine. Let’s rest till dawn.”

Jongin made a fire and the squire made them some warm tea, serving the knight some with bread. The squire ate slowly, watching Jongin stare at the scroll that their Prince had handed him, a scroll he was under the assumption was for the Seyan King. He had caught the first word when he had been serving tea. Father.

And he finally asked, unable to keep his curiosity within him, “Is that scroll for our King?”

Jongin looked to the squire before looking back at the scroll… at the curt message that filled that sheet.

Father, 

I do not need a knight or a squire. I never did. All I need, I already have– my King.

Jongin rested back against the boulder he was sitting against. He remembered the coldness in Taemin’s mien, at how when he had not cared to even look at him when he had arrived in the grounds. How he had only spoken a command and forced them on their way without a word further, without giving Jongin a chance to acknowledge the command, let alone speak anything else.

“Sire?” The squire asked again when Jongin had not answered,  “Is it for our King?”

“It is indeed addressed to him,” Jongin answered, breaking from his daze & folding it away, “But…”

“But?”

Jongin sighed, shaking his head, yet the words formed in his mind.

But it is meant for me.

Taemin had not even bothered to seal it; it was apparent it was for him to read. But he did not have to. Just seeing Taemin… had brought him to the realization that all he did, all he wished for, was in vain. He should have stopped then, stopped when Taemin had refused to elope with him, he should have stopped, he should not have ignored the change he had seen in the Prince, how he no longer looked at him the same and how he had begun to look at Minho. But he knew that Taemin was still unaware of his own shifting sentiments and he had pursued him by all means possible, hoping he could revert them. 

But what Taemin had in his heart for the King was far stronger than he ever held for him. Minho was rooted in his heart in ways he never was and Jongin now knew he could do nothing to uproot him. 

And he deserved it and more, being pushed away by Taemin with such coldness and humiliation.

He did not deserve Taemin, who was ready to abscond, ready to leave everything behind just for him– he, who could not do a simple thing as declare his love… nor raise his sword to save his life, even when he had nothing to lose, after having left his title and family behind.

He deserved Taemin, who stepped over his own heart, his pride and brought Taemin to him. He deserved Taemin, who threw a dagger to save his life, even if it meant it would not only endanger his own self but an entire kingdom.

“Sire…” The squire called him and Jongin hummed, “Should we really ride back south?” He asked, worried, “Our Prince hasn’t recovered and Aeyan is expecting war, shouldn’t we stay by his side?”

Jongin sighed, closing his eyes, “There is no need.”

Taemin stirred awake, snuggling into the warm bedding, pulling it over his head to block the light from the windows and balcony striking his eyes. But he dove out of the bedding the very next second, sitting up straight, his eyes immediately settling to his side, finding it vacant.

It was quite late, almost noon, judging from the intensity of light escaping the swaying curtains and he rested back, pulling his knees closer and resting his forehead against them, warmth filled his face… because he had remembered… he had remembered what he had done last night.

He had spoken it, his heart… but he remembered nothing after, having yielded to his fever and fallen asleep, not knowing how his gesture, his words had been taken. He had been fighting his ill health all day, he knew he had worsened his condition, being out in the cold with only that cloak upon his first layer of clothing and stayed out until he had seen with his own eyes that his command had been obeyed. He had found his way back with difficulty, wanting to reach Minho before his legs gave out.

And he had lost control of his body the moment the burden it carried had escaped him– those words he had been yearning to say, looking for the opportunity wherein they would mean exactly what he wanted them to mean and not be taken lightly or be voided. It was a blur… what happened after that, he had felt Minho shift, heard his voice, but those last of his conscious moments were obscure to make anything of them.

There was a knock on the door and Taemin straightened up to the door creaking open. It was Kibum. He greeted him courteously and placed a glass of warm, spiced milk at the bedside table before informing him that his bath is prepared. Taemin squirmed out of the bedding and picked up the glass, noticing that Kibum had brought out both casual and formal robes.

Kibum answered his gaze after he had hung both of them, “Because I know His Grace would attend the King’s council despite my pleading.”

“Why would I?”

“Yangon,” Kibum declared, “Their king is here.”

The fortress gates had been opened and a small troop was waiting outside, beyond the perimeter of Aeyan soldiers. The Yangon King had been let in with two of his soldiers because he wished for an audience and Minho had granted him one.

When Taemin’s arrival had been announced and he had entered, the air was tensely quiet. His eyes found Minho on one arc of the round table, his General standing behind him and opposite him was seated a man, dressed in the green shades and patterns of Yangon. He was young but still older than Minho, perhaps a few years older. He bowed his head when his eyes met Taemin’s and Taemin averted his gaze after a moment, walking to the seat placed beside Minho’s.

“Now that His Grace is here, I guess I do not have to wait?”

Minho let out a breath, summarizing their discourse, “King Ziyan wishes for peace.”

Taemin noticed the suppressed rage under his calm, his demeanor giving him away