He knew he ought to be worried about his friend. Yifan had been mourning for weeks, ever since he walked out of the forest with a silver sword in one hand and the body of his dead lover in the other.

 

The forest was flourishing, a brilliant emerald green against the sapphire sky. Birdsong filled the air.

 

Yifan did not speak much about the day of the storm, only that the Queen was dead, his lover was dead and that the forest was free. He said nothing of the finger shaped burns on his wrists, the tears in his eyes.

 

They buried the poisoner in the garden, beside the belladonna he so adored and Yifan had remained stoic throughout the funeral.

 

Only after his father and company had left, did Joonmyun see the prince collapse at the headstone, drenching the ground with his tears from the privacy of his bedroom window.

 

Joonmyun wished he could do more to help, but another letter from the fire king had come, insisting upon a meeting. The tone was cordial, but he could tell that the king was getting impatient.

 

Their union had been a long time coming, written and planned through carefully written letters and flags of truce.

 

The marriage would be a celebration to all who resided in the fiery north and icy south for it would mean the end of an age-old war, the birth of a new, hopefully perennial truce.

 

Joonmyun knew his place, knew that it was his duty as the crown prince of Aubin to procure and preserve peace for his people. The union had been his idea, much to the dismay of his brothers.

 

The fire king was known to be volatile, but Joonmyun had hoped to be able to appeal to his sweeter side. It was well known throughout the kingdom that the king had a soft spot for pretty things and Joonmyun was precisely who he had his eyes on.

 

 The treaty was written and signed quickly but now the prince was getting cold feet.

 

Throughout their communication, he had not met the man himself even once. The king sent messengers in his stead, bearing lavish and extravagant gifts native from Pele, his homeland in the hopes that it would satiate Joonmyun.

 

He had pushed back their engagement, stating that he wished to spend a little more time with his brothers, to celebrate Jongin’s name day, and when he had received an invitation from Yifan to spend some time in Aria, he had jumped at the chance as well.

 

The king had sent more gifts, each one more opulent than the next, to Aria and letters detailing his day, highlighting his wish to meet him.

 

Joonmyun had accepted them and written back, giving explanation after explanation to prolong his stay.

 

But the axe had finally fallen.

 

The king’s court had given him an ultimatum, a letter signed by all nine lords in Pele’s court, a formal request that he visit before the turn of season or the union would be forfeited.

 

Joonmyun had received reports from his brothers that their scouts had spotted Pele’s spies loitering at their borders and time was of the essence.

 

He was to appear in Pele’s court in two days’ time.

 

-

 

Yifan came to say goodbye, to his relief.

 

His friend’s eyes were rimmed with red, his cheeks sunken, even as he appeared in the sunshine, wrapped in the cloak of his dead lover.

 

Joonmyun hugged him hard, promising to write. He was afraid that he would do something unspeakable in his grief and had made Yifan’s closest servants promise to send word should they have need. His duties would not keep him from being there for a friend.

 

He rolled away in a carriage emblazoned with the fire king’s crest, a golden phoenix rising from a circle of flame, dressed in the clothes sent by his betrothed.

 

Pele would be nothing like his own kingdom, fiery and red, surrounded by wide expanses of red sand stretching out for miles.

 

They had volcanoes, rising high in the distance, puffing smoke from their massive craters and filling the air with dust and heat.

 

It was a long ride from Aria.

 

The fire king had sent his attendants to entertain him, but Joonmyun had ordered them into the other carriage, citing that he wished for privacy.

 

They had acquitted of course. He was the king’s betrothed, after all. There were guards, a small legion of them and the deserts were too flat and open for him to flee.

 

Not that he thought of fleeing.

 

Joonmyun watched as the blue skies turned to red, the expanse of trees fading to sand. They were crossing into Pele’s territory now. He could hear the soft swish of sand as the carriage travelled through the desert, dusty winds making his eyes water.

 

He stripped off the first layer of his clothes, grimacing as sweat began to bead at his hairline.

 

Pele was hot.

 

Its temperature was so much warmer than the ice prince was used to, the air thick and filled with dust.

 

Joonmyun pushed aside the curtains shielding his window, shedding more layers as a breeze swept into the carriage, too warm to be comfortable.

 

He set his book aside, shifting to be closer to the open window. The carriage was beginning to travel up a slope, sand swishing softly beneath the wheels as it climbed up the winding road.

 

To Joonmyun’s knowledge, Pele’s palace was built into the side of an active volcano, the largest there was, and as the carriage rumbled up the slopes, he saw a brilliant gold flash darting through the air towards them.

 

There was a loud screech and Joonmyun lurched back in surprise at the sight of the golden phoenix hovering outside his window. He heard the driver yell a series of words in a language he did not understand before the phoenix was fluttering into the carriage, landing in his lap.

 

“Hello,” he eyed the bird warily, as it did. Its golden feathers were warm against his thigh, almost uncomfortably so, and its talons were digging very faintly into the flesh of his leg.

 

The bird squawked at him, hopping closer.  

 

“You aight’ m’lord?” The driver called out in heavily accented Aubian and Joonmyun looked at the bird on his knee.

 

It did not seem interested in pecking his eyes out, nor tearing his flesh from his bones. It was merely observing him with a tilted head and curious eyes.

 

“Fine,” he called back, still watching the phoenix closely.

 

“That’ll be His Majesty’s pet. Awfully hot it tis’,” the driver chuckled to himself as the carriage carried on up the slopes.

 

The heat was getting near unbearable as they neared the smoking crater. Pele’s palace was sat beneath the pit of molten lava, practically carved into the side of the volcano, walls built of solidified magma.

 

The phoenix’s beady eyes only turned away when the carriage rolled to a stop, the door swinging open.

 

“Welcome to Pele, m’lord. His Majesty is waiting for you,” the footman intoned, his cheeks barely even flushed from the heat. The bird hopped off Joonmyun’s knee, perching instead on the edge of the chair.

 

It looked as if it was waiting, as Joonmyun gathered up the layers that he had shed. He was dressed only in a thin undershirt and the dark pants that was customary for Pele’s royalty.

 

“Better put a shirt on, m’lord,” the driver peeked round the door, snickering. There were others too, gathering around the carriage, trying to look in. It seemed like the news of the Aubin prince’s arrival had spread quickly.

 

Joonmyun gritted his teeth, yanking on the thinnest blazer he held in his hands, a horrendously reddish thing embroidered with golden thread.

 

He swept a hand through his sweaty hair, trying to regain some form of dignity. He could feel his makeup practically melting off his face.

 

The phoenix shrieked, leaping into the air. Its fiery feathers brushed so close that the prince flinched.

 

Sharp claws pricked through his clothes as the phoenix settled itself upon his shoulder, folding its glorious wings back.

 

The bird radiated warmth that served only to make Joonmyun even more uncomfortable as he stepped out of the carriage, gasping at the dry heat the ground emitted.

 

He felt a little light headed, as the footman took his hand to guide him.

 

There were so many people watching him, and he could hear whispers through the crowd, in Pele’s language.

 

A little thrill of fear shot through him and he very nearly stepped away when two men broader than he moved to flank him. He touched a hand to his face, in a sharp breath of air as he was guided through the throng and towards the palace gates.

 

It seemed that they had not stopped in the palace grounds but just outside, as if the king wanted to parade him around like a puppet.

 

Even with the guards on either side, and the ones following behind, Joonmyun could feeling the people closing in, their gazes hot and heavy. They were first awed by the phoenix’s appearance but then their eyes turned to him, the prince in the enemy country.

 

Joonmyun tugged at his collar even though it was hardly restricting at all. His breaths were coming in short and his chest hurt.

 

He clenched his fists as another wave of heat swept over him, his already aching head throbbing even harder. The world spun and he froze for a moment, startling his guards.

 

“I’m fine,” he waved his hand, though no one asked, shoving the other hand into his pockets. His feet felt like lead as they walked towards the gates, the heat turning him sluggish.

 

His muscles were practically jelly by the time they had crossed the gates and he had to stop. He was breathing too quick, harsh and ragged, and the panic had settled in, the reality of his situation kicking him in the face as the gates closed behind him.

 

 His guards were speaking to him, but their words were muted to his ears, and all he could focus on was the panic. Terror was twisting his stomach into knots, stealing the air from his lungs. His vision tinged with black and he lurched forward, suddenly overcome with the urge to throw up.

 

His knees buckled and then there were hands upon him, holding him upright.

 

“Is he alright?” A concerned voice cut through the noise and he looked up. And up to see bright brown eyes staring down at him.

 

The king.

 

He lurched to his feet; one hand pressed to his mouth. The nausea persisted even as he grasped onto the nearest man to steady himself.

 

He refused to meet his betrothed on his knees.

 

“I’m fine,” his voice was shaky, even to his ears but Joonmyun held his ground. He refused to be seen as weak even if the heat was making him dizzy.

 

“It’s a pleasure to finally see you in person, Prince Joonmyun,” his voice was smooth, like velvety chocolate.

 

Warm hands curled around his, and he was being drawn out of the circle of guards.

 

King Chanyeol towered over him, dressed simply in a white shirt ed halfway down his chest. His skin glistened with sweat beneath the fiery light and Joonmyun found it extremely distracting.

 

He jerked his head away, belatedly realising that he had yet to greet his betrothed.

 

“Milord,” he bowed deeply, whisking his hands out of the king’s grip. A forced smile found its way to his lips and he slid his hands into his pockets, teeth clamping down unsurely on his bottom lip.

 

“You have kept me waiting,” King Chanyeol’s tone was amused rather than angry as his too warm fingers gripped his wrist. He made a brisk motion with his hand and the phoenix Joonmyun had forgotten about fluttered onto his shoulder, preening with a loud screeching cry.

 

“My apologies, my liege,” he murmured, bowing once more. The heat was truly unbearable, causing sweat to bead at his hairline, dripping down his face. He was certain that his makeup was less than perfect.

 

“You are as beautiful as they say,” King Chanyeol’s eyes were full of wonder as he drank in Joonmyun, even in his imperfect state.

 

Joonmyun’s cheeks flushed, even redder and he tried to withdraw his hands.

 

The king’s eyes narrowed in concern and he reached out to cup his cheek, a gesture so tender that made every man in the room turn his head.

 

“You looked flushed, are you unwell?”

 

Joonmyun backed away quickly, stuttering apologies when he stepped onto a guard’s boot. The guard hardly felt it, it seemed, his face completely stoic as he stepped back, one hand steadying the prince.

 

“N…no, my liege. It is much warmer than I am used to,” he explained and King Chanyeol’s expression cleared.

 

“Of course. We have special robes and chambers prepared for you. Come, come and get out of those clothes.”

 

-

 

To say that he had been waiting a long time would be an understatement.

 

Chanyeol had been delighted when the letter from Aubin arrived, stating a request for a union to be made.

 

He had heard tall tales of the Aubin princes’ beauty, each one as fair as the next. But Prince Joonmyun was the fairest of all, and he believed those stories now.

 

The prince was quiet as he led him to his chambers, dismissing the maids that hurried to help. He hoped that he would enjoy his stay, and his new robes the colour of Aubin’s sky.

 

Joonmyun had told him in his letters that he adored the colour.

 

“I hope the tailors got the colours­­­ right,” Chanyeol fretted absentmindedly. The silence was becoming awkward and he never did well with silences. His bird squawked and flew off his shoulders, landing upon the windowsill. It looked down at them both with judgemental eyes and Chanyeol glowered.

 

“They are lovely, thank you,” Joonmyun replied stiffly. His expression was disturbingly neutral but Chanyeol got the distinct impression that he would rather be anywhere but there.

 

It confused him.

 

The prince had been the one to put forth the marriage arrangements and Chanyeol’s vizier had been enthusiastic about it. Chanyeol had thought the prince was willing.

 

He would not have agreed to an unwilling marriage.

 

“Perhaps, you should put them on. They are made specially for you to endure the heat,” he said uncertainly and Joonmyun merely looked at them, his eyes fixed on the brilliant blue robes as he nodded, bowing.

 

The servants entered at this very moment, hustling the prince out to the bathroom where he could be refreshed from his trip.

 

Chanyeol’s confusion was growing by the moment. He did not understand this prince at all.

 

-

 

The king was so different from what he had expected that Joonmyun was completely thrown.

 

From his letters, he had gotten the impression that the king was fiery in temper and quick to anger.

 

He had feared that he would be treated like a prized cow, a prisoner in a foreign land, a slave to his duties.

 

But Chanyeol was kind, and so gentle. So unlike the vizier that followed him nearly everywhere, snake eyes making Joonmyun’s skin crawl.

 

The vizier has been advisor to Chanyeol’s father before his death in war, and from what Joonmyun could gather, manipulative and cunning.

 

His words were few but scathing, with many suggestive comments about Aubin’s size and army.

 

Even Chanyeol’s phoenix seemed to hold no love for the man, beady eyes glowering at him whenever he was in the same room as the king.

 

Chanyeol on the other hand, did everything he could to make Joonmyun comfortable.

 

He arranged lavished dinners, filled with the prince’s favourite comfort foods, had exotic flowers sent to his rooms every morning.

 

New robes appeared in his closet occasionally, the fabric cool and thin to the touch. They were beautifully crafted, every stitch perfectly catered to Joonmyun’s tastes.

 

But everything he did only made the prince miss home.

 

Every bite of food he took brought back the painful longing that tugged at his heart, the robes he put in so unlike his usual attire that he felt as if he had put on someone else’s skin.

 

Every night, they would spend time together, in Chanyeol’s music room, fitted with a lyre and an organ.

 

Joonmyun entertained himself on the organ, while Chanyeol wrung beautiful melodies from the strings of the lyre.

 

He played the songs of his childhood, reminiscing the times when he had his lessons with his brothers hanging over his shoulders.

 

They always made him play their favourite tunes.

 

His lips tugged up into a soft smile as he slipped back into his memories, paying no mind to the dark eyes watching him.

 

“You do not wish to be here,” he was startled  from his playing to see the king’s gaze upon him, his fingers plucking the lyre restlessly.

 

His eyes were dim, his mouth set in a troubled line. His hands glowed faintly in the moonlight, the tiniest flicker of flame at his fingertips.

 

Joonmyun bit his lip, his playing stuttering to a stop.

 

The last note rang heavily through the silent night, startling the phoenix that had been napping on its perch.

 

He could hear the rustle of the king’s robes as he set aside the lyre, the creak of the floorboard beneath his feet as he rose, moving to stand over him.

 

Large hands covered his own and he could feel the heat radiating from the King’s body against his back.

 

His breath hitched at the proximity.

 

Dipping his head, he kept his eyes fixed upon the black and white keys, his heart thudding wildly in his chest.

 

“This is my duty, my liege. It has nothing to do with my own desires.”

 

Chanyeol exhaled above him, clearly upset.

 

“I will not marry an unwilling groom,” he said stiffly, withdrawing his hands.

 

A cold chill gripped Joonmyun’s heart as the king stepped away, his bird fluttering onto his wrist.

 

“My liege?” He pushed himself away from the organ, tugging his robes closer.

 

“I was under the impression that you wanted this, Prince Joonmyun,” the prince’s tone was short, clipped, his head turned away. His phoenix seemed to have picked up on its master’s mood, turning beady eyes onto Joonmyun.

 

“I do,” he exhaled, clasping his hands together. He could not fail now.

 

The king had been so enamored with him that he had not anticipated this. He had assumed, rather incorrectly, that he would care nothing for the whims of his groom, only that he could obtain the prettiest prince in all of Aubin.

 

“With all due respect, prince, you do not show it. You have been nothing but cold ever since you’ve arrived. Perhaps I should have taken your frequent excuses not to visit as a sign.”

 

Joonmyun’s lips parted, but no words came. He had nothing to say to that.

 

He was unwilling. He was afraid of what coming to Pele would do to him. But his kingdom was his everything. And he would anything to save it.

 

Chanyeol took one glance at him and turned away, a mask of disappointment flitting across his face.

 

“I will withdraw the proposal. Your things will be packed and you may return home within the week. Now if you will excuse me.”

 

Terror and despair filled the prince’s heart, chilling him to the bone as he watched the king walk away, still his phoenix.

 

His knees buckled and he collapsed into the organ’s seat, trembling.

 

Aubin was too weak, their army too small now to take on any attacks from Pele.

 

The fire kingdom would decimate them all.

 

He shuddered at the thought of his brothers, both riding into battle at such a young age. Jongin would never stand a chance.

 

And Jongdae, Jongdae had a beau, a future before him.

 

The room was too warm, the night air suddenly too hot. He curled up into a ball, whimpering as the panic consumed him.

 

He thought he might die, his heart was beating so fast. It seemed as if it would jump out of his chest.

 

His vision was tunneling and his hands were sweaty. He slipped off the chair, landing on the floor hard.

 

He clenched his hands into fists, desperately trying to draw air into his lungs. But the air was hot and muggy, nothing like the cool, crisp wind back home.

 

He was a failure.

 

The king would declare war upon his kingdom and he could do nothing to stop it.

 

His brothers were going to be murdered and he, he had no idea what would happen to him.

 

Tears he had not noticed before were streaming down his face, pooling on the floor. He was shaking, whimpering like a frightened puppy.

 

The door opened and he heard the servants come in, calling for him to return to his chambers.

 

But there was barely enough air. He could scarcely breathe.

 

The fear was an icy fist around his heart and his chest ached with it.

 

The servants had seen him now, curled up on the ground as if he had been hurt and were crowding around him.

 

He could not make out faces, their voices blending in a roar in his ears, the thudding of his racing heart drowning them out.

 

“Help…”

 

“He needs…”

 

“Healer?”

 

“Panic…”

 

“-the king!”

 

His vision swam as hands gripped at his arms and shoulders, none too gentle.

 

With a little cry, he welcomed the darkness that enveloped him.

 

-

 

Chanyeol could not sleep.

 

The phoenix was already deep in its slumber, its head tucked under its wing.

 

His mind was too busy drowning in disappointment to settle.

 

He had wished so much for the Aubin prince to like him, for the companionship that it hurt.

 

It got lonely being king, even surrounded by the nine lords and his vizier. He had not spoken to many people his age in a long time.

 

He winced as he pushed himself into a sitting position, coughs wracking his body.

 

His head felt a little strange, almost too heavy, the insides a little fuzzy.

 

Perhaps he had eaten something that disagreed with him at dinner.

 

Dinner was always such a cold and silent affair with Joonmyun.

 

The Aubin prince rarely spoke, and Chanyeol was not quite sure he wanted to at all.

 

He slumped back into his pillows, turning onto his side.

 

What would it feel like if Joonmyun actually wanted him for him? And not for the kingdoms they served?

 

He was a lovely man, the fairest Chanyeol has ever seen. It would not be difficult to love him, if he were warmer than the ice his kingdom was known for.

 

Chanyeol was about to roll out of bed and light a lamp to read when there was a brash knock on the door, loud and urgent.

 

“Come in,” he frowned. The servants never bothered him at bedtime. Perhaps it was Joonmyun come to beg pardon?

 

His insides twisted at the though of seeing the prince plead.

 

Joonmyun did not want him. He probably did not even care for him. He thought of marriage as his duty and not as the sacred bond that Chanyeol thought it to be.

 

He sat up as a servant hurried into the room, mousy and timid.

 

Her eyes were wide and frightened as she spoke.

 

“It is the prince, milord. We fear he may have just had a fit.”

 

Chanyeol was shoving the covers off his body and dashing through the doors before he even knew what he was doing.

 

There was a gaggle or servants surrounding the prince, all too terrified to touch him.

 

They parted when he entered, hair all rumpled and robes eschew.

 

Joonmyun was lying on the floor, convulsing and unconscious.

 

Chanyeol snatched up the nearest cushion, moving to kneel beside the convulsing prince. He raised his head gently, laying the pillow beneath it.

 

“He’s going to be alright,” he said loudly, shooing the servants away, “it must be a panic attack.”

 

He remembered the first time he had met Joonmyun, in the great hall. He had been close to collapsing, shaky and frightened.

 

It seemed so obvious now.

 

He stayed by the prince, gently smoothing fingers through his hair until he had stopped shaking.

 

“Hey,” he murmured as long lashes fluttered.

 

Joonmyun’s eyes were opening, staring up at him blearily. He barely stopped himself from cooing, his earlier sadness all but forgotten.

 

“My liege?” He murmured faintly as Chanyeol slid an arm beneath him, helping him sit up.

 

“You just had a panic attack,” dark eyes widened as Chanyeol settled him against his shoulder, ­­his breathing stuttering.

 

“I- My apologies, sir, ” he mumbled and Chanyeol blinked.

 

“There is no need apologise, Prince Joonmyun. These things happen. Just breathe for a moment.”

 

The moonlight made Joonmyun’s skin glow a pearly white, his lashes dark against the pale skin when he closed his eyes.

 

He looked positively ethereal in his sky blue robes and silver hair, glowing in the soft light.

 

Chanyeol found himself staring at the prince’s lips as he cradled him close, gently soothing him with soft whispers as the prince closed his eyes again.

 

He was sorry when Joonmyun stirred, fingers curling into his robes to help himself sit up. He was more alert now, his gaze flitting away from Chanyeol’s face.

 

“Does that happen often?” Chanyeol asked, his arm still latched around Joonmyun’s waist. The prince would not look him in the eye as he helped him rise, pulling his robes closer about his body.

 

“Sometimes my emotions overcome me,” he answered, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon. He lurched when Chanyeol released him, fingers curling into the edge of his robes as if chasing after the contact.

 

“My liege…”

 

Chanyeol blinked when he tugged gently, like a small child.

 

“Forgive me,” he murmured, and Chanyeol’s eyes grew wide with alarm when he sank to his knees. “Forgive my distance. I will do better, my king.”

 

Chanyeol grabbed his arms, following him down to the floor.

 

“Joonmyun-,” he started, quickly cut off by a hacking cough. Joonmyun’s eyes were wide when he recoiled from him, coughing painfully.

 

“My liege?” He reached forward, a hand brushing his arm delicately. “Should I call a healer?”

 

Chanyeol coughed again, waving him off. His head was aching as he buried his face into his hands, the coughs finally fading out.

 

“I’m fine,” he mumbled when Joonmyun touched him, his face filled with concern.

 

“Perhaps I should get a healer,” the prince said in alarm when Chanyeol’s palm flared with flames that he did not call.

 

Chanyeol blinked at his hand, curling it into a fist quickly to smother the fire.

 

“No,” he said, rising to his feet, careful to avoid touching Joonmyun with the hand that had just been on fire.

 

“I am fine now.”

 

Joonmyun was still staring at him with that look of concern creasing his brows and he hated that look.

 

He pressed his thumb into the crease between the prince’s brow, startling him.

 

“Don’t frown,” he murmured, bending to drop a kiss against the prince’s hair.

 

“You’re too pretty to be sad.”

 

Joonmyun was staring at him when he pulled away, fingers reaching to curl around his wrist. His fingers were so small, so delicate compared to his that he could not help the smile.

 

“My liege-,” he began and Chanyeol cut him off.

 

“Call me Chanyeol. If you wish to be better, start by being my equal.”

 

Joonmyun nodded dumbly and Chanyeol pulled off the bangle he had been wearing, offering it to him.

 

The moonlight glinted off the gold, and the stones set into it glittered.

 

“I know it does not suit your robes. But I hope you will wear it anyway,” he murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair away from Joonmyun’s face.

 

“Consider it a courting gift.”

 

 Joonmyun’s lips parted as Chanyeol ran his thumb along his jaw, leaning in closer.

 

Chanyeol paused, waiting for the prince to push him away, but Joonmyun closed the gap between them, pressing their lips in a kiss so searing that Chanyeol felt his knees buckle.

 

Joonmyun’s eyes glittered like stars when they pulled apart, Chanyeol gaping at him as if he were a fish out of water.

 

“Chanyeol,” he murmured and the king could not help the smile that broke over his face.

 

It was a start.

 

-

 

Slowly but surely, Joonmyun could feel his walls of ice begin to melt.

 

The kiss he had initiated made the first crack and soon, he found himself enjoying his dinners with Chanyeol.

 

The fire king was funny and unabashed with his jokes.

 

He would say almost anything just to see Joonmyun smile and that fact alone was enough for Joonmyun to soften further.

 

But something seemed to be off.

 

Joonmyun could never forget the night he watched Chanyeol cough and hack away on the ground, bright eyes dim with pain.

 

He could tell that something was wrong as his king seemed to get weaker as days passed, his smile not so brilliant, his touch not so warm.

 

It was as if something was leeching away his magic, his life’s blood.

 

Chanyeol always insisted that he was fine, that it was merely a head cold, or stomach ache, but Joonmyun knew better.

 

The king was losing weight, his eyes hollow and tired.

 

“Chanyeol,” he murmured one night while they were in bed together.

 

Chanyeol had removed his shirt, claiming the heat but his skin was cold and clammy to the touch when Joonmyun laid his head upon his chest.

 

The king hummed in reply, carding fingers through Joonmyun’s hair.

 

“Chanyeol, you are unwell,” Joonmyun pressed a tender kiss upon his navel and sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist.

 

Chanyeol was looking at him as if he was the greatest specimen he had ever seen in his life, with the moonlight spilling over his pale skin and hair and the thought was enough to warm his cheeks.

 

“I’m fine, my love. You worry too much,” even as he said that, Chanyeol coughed, turning away to cover his mouth.

 

Joonmyun leaned forward, pressing kisses along the line of Chanyeol’s throat.

 

“You’re not and I wish you would tell me what’s wrong,” he murmured. His fingers traced the lines of the king’s ribs, too prominent against his once muscled chest.

 

Chanyeol took up his hand, kissing his fingertips tenderly. He laced their fingers together and smiled up at him.

 

“I’m just tired, love. It is nothing a good night’s sleep can’t cure.”

 

“That’s not it,” Joonmyun insisted, withdrawing his hands. He was frustrated.

 

How could Chanyeol not see? He was coughing and hacking too often and his skin was cold, not warm like a Pele civilian’s should be.

 

Joonmyun could never forget the warmth of the king’s skin when he had first touched him and now it was all wrong.

 

Chanyeol’s brows creased and he sat up too, drawing the Aubin prince into his arms.

 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Myeonie,” he confessed, his mouth so close that Joonmyun could feel his breaths brush over the shell of his ear.

 

“I feel wrong inside. It’s like someone’s rearranged me somehow.”

 

Concern made Joonmyun’s heart ache but there was also relief.

 

Relief that Chanyeol was acknowledging the problem, that there even was a problem.

 

He leaned up, catching the king’s lips with his own.

 

“We’ll figure it out,” he murmured against Chanyeol’s lips, fingers tangling into crimson hair.

 

“We’ll figure it out together.”

-

 

It was a beautiful day outside. For once, the sun was not baking the earth and it was cool enough for Joonmyun to go outside.

 

He was admiring the brilliantly red berries growing in the gardens when he heard the sneering voice of Chanyeol’s vizier.

 

“I wouldn’t touch those, Your Highness.”

 

He looked up to see the man standing in the archway, eyes narrowed.

 

There was no one else around then.

 

“What are they?” He asked curiously, tugging his hands into his pockets.

 

“Pyracantha. They are a symbol of our power but also highly toxic to us.”

 

The vizier walked closer, beady eyes fixed on Joonmyun. Joonmyun blinked.

 

“Why would you grow poison in the palace gardens?” He asked and the vizier’s lips pulled into a mocking grin, more teeth than smile.

 

“Why did you not ask your dear friends in Aria the same question?”

 

Joonmyun frowned, folding his arms across his chest. He felt oddly defensive as grey eyes bored into him, cruel and taunting.

 

“They grew it because of the Queen. It was protection against her and her wicked powers.”

 

The vizier snorted.

 

“Of course.”

 

He backed away slowly, still smirking as if he knew something Joonmyun did not.

 

Joonmyun watched him disappear off into the far side of the palace before shuddering. He did not like the man.

 

He combed a hand through his hair, before wandering back to the palace, eager to see Chanyeol.

 

The king had been busy and promised him time together once he was done with his work and Joonmyun was looking forward to it, even if it meant spending hours lazily kissing in the music room.

 

His heart lifted as he pushed open the door to the room, expecting to see Chanyeol already waiting for him, lye in hand.

 

What he did not expect was to see the king curled up on the ground, lyre strings broken and coughing up blood.

 

“Chanyeol!”

 

Joonmyun fell to his knees beside the king, his heart in his mouth. Chanyeol was still hacking wildly, crimson staining his hand.

 

“Fetch a healer, quickly!” He cried the moment a servant poked her head into the room to see what the fuss was. She gasped at the sight of the king in his state and Joonmyun did not wait to see her run from the room.

 

He cradled Chanyeol against his chest, a parody of how he had been held the first time the king soothed him from his fit, except now there was blood on his robes and there were more trickling from Chanyeol’s lips, flecking onto his face.

 

“My king,” he pleaded, his heart racing in his chest as Chanyeol gasped for breath, fingers clenching into his blood stained robes. His fingers left smears of red on the ice blue fabric but Joonmyun hardly cared.

 

He clung to the king like a life line until the guards came rushing in, healers dressed in gold bodily prying him from his lover.

 

“Save him, save him please,” he gasped like a dying fish, fingers curling helplessly in the air as the guards held him back. The healers hurried the king to his chambers, the man himself barely conscious.

 

He stumbled to the door when he was released. Tears streaked down his face as the terror seized him, icy cold in his chest.

 

There was blood on his face, chest and robes where Chanyeol had coughed onto him and he was sure he had to look a sight.

 

But the healers cast him no second glance when he shoved open the door, collapsing into the nearest chair to watch them work.

 

The bangle that Chanyeol had given him was cold against his skin as he worried it, clutching in his fingers as he murmured prayers under his breath.

 

“It’s poison,” one of the healers announced after what seemed like hours.

 

They had poured elixir after elixir down the king’s throat, desperately trying to stabilize him and for now, he was alive.

 

“But not for long. We don’t know long he has had the poison in his system. And there is no known cure for pyracantha poison.”

 

Joonmyun felt as if the world had just been yanked out from beneath his feet.

 

His breath was coming in short, the room spinning as he stared at the healer dumbly.

 

“What can we do?”

 

The healer shook his head, lips pressed together sympathetically.

 

“Nothing, milord. I’m afraid there’s nothing that can save him now.”

 

-

 

It was almost definitely illegal to consult a wizard. Especially one that specialized in poisons and potions.

 

But he had no other choice.

 

“He’s dying,” Joonmyun murmured to himself and the wizard looked at him, spindly fingers tap tapping away on the table.

 

He pictured Chanyeol, curled up in his bed hacking away, his veins glowing gold and red before fading.

 

“Yes he is.”

 

The wizard touched the vial of gold sitting on the table, bicoloured eyes surveying him.

 

“Is there nothing I can do?” Joonmyun asked, gripping the edges of his seat, feeling his heart stutter at the thought of losing his love.

 

A love so hard won.

 

The wizard ran a hand through his chestnut hair, looking impossibly young as he tapped the vial again.

 

His lips were pulled into a severe look when he cast a glance his old worn sundial.

 

“No magic comes without a price. I can give you a spell and a recipe for the antidote. But the pain you must endure to brew it will be far worst than anything you have endured before.”

 

“Tell me.”

 

“The potion must be made from the very thing that poisoned your king; the pyracantha berries. Its thorns must be stripped from twigs of the bush, the bark boiled in its juice, all by hand. From the moment you begin this brew you must not speak a word, nor make a sound, even when your fingers bleed and your bones ache. In a week from now, you must begin the spell. Your silence begins tonight, for a month and a day until you fill this vial,” he indicated the golden vial that he had been tapping rhythmically.

 

“On the very last night, a blood moon will rise, soaking the land in scarlet. When it stands above the highest point of the palace, the potion will be ready. But be warned. Should you speak a word during the process, you will have to begin again and your king does not have time enough for you to spare. If you breathe even a word of this spell to anyone, it will be rendered useless.”

 

“Once you have begun, you cannot stop. If for even a moment your hands stray from the berries, you must begin anew.

 

The wizard set a branch of pyracantha covered in fiery red berries upon the table. It practically glowed in the dim light of the room.

 

Joonmyun touched the branch almost reverently. He knew the berries of course. The palace grew bushes upon bushes of them, all filled to the brim with red berries. They were not poisonous to him, with his Aubin blood.

 

The ice in his blood was counteract enough to the poison.

 

But they were deadly to people of Pele.

 

He was starkly reminded of Yifan’s lover, who ate belladonna as a snack when he took the branch.

 

“And this will save him?” He asked, running his fingers along the length of the branch. His skin caught upon a thorn and he winced.

 

A tiny bead of blood rose to the surface, the same colour as the berries and the wizard looked at him steadily.

 

“Yes, my prince.”

 

-

 

Chanyeol noticed the change in his prince immediately.

 

Joonmyun has vanished for nearly a day, completely untraceable and when he returned, his expression was sober and he would speak to no one.

 

Not even him.

 

He did not say a word throughout dinner, nor make a sound.

 

Even when they retired to their music room, he only played silently, paying no attention to Chanyeol’s attempts at conversation.

 

It was almost as if he had reverted back to the cold ice prince Chanyeol had met on his first day.

 

And he would not speak a word in the days to come.

 

Chanyeol did everything he could to get him to speak, but Joonmyun merely pressed his lips together and said nothing.

 

“Will you not speak?” He asked one night when they laid together in his bed.

 

Joonmyun was not asleep, though his eyes were closed.

 

He was beautiful in the moonlight and Chanyeol never closed the drapes now.

 

His skin flowed and his expression was soft.

 

Chanyeol bent, pressing their lips together and his prince stirred, opening one eye to look at him.

 

“Talk to me,” he pleaded, cupping his cheek, “tell me why you have gone mute.”

 

But Joonmyun merely shook his head, his smile full of sorrow as he pushed his hand away and turned his back to him.

 

For seven days he did not speak. He spent a good amount of time outdoors in the palace gardens in that time, a strange feat for the cold blooded prince.

 

Chanyeol’s heart cracked when Joonmyun withdrew, and took to sleeping in his own bedchambers, the chamber that had remained unused when they had grown close.

 

He rarely ever ventured from his chambers, and the servants noticed red stains on his lover’s fingers, crimson like blood and places where the skin was red and raw, as if he had been working all night.

 

And that a strange smell emitted from his room, a smell that the phoenix did not seem to mind given that it spent majority of its time in Joonmyun’s chambers.

 

The servants told him that the prince had stopped eating and the doors to his chambers remained bolted at all hours of the day.

 

But Chanyeol could not fathom what he could possibly be doing.

 

His time was limited, the healers had said so. Surely Joonmyun knew that.

 

But why then, would he withdraw from him? Did he no longer love him? Was Chanyeol too flawed now? Too weak to love?

 

His questions went unanswered for days, and then weeks.

 

For three weeks he endured the silence, confused and heartbroken.

 

Until one night he heard his phoenix screeching, a horrible sound as if it were scolding someone and there was a horrible cracking, breaking sound.

 

That was quickly followed by something heavy striking the floor and men yelling.

 

Chanyeol hurried to the rooms with his heart in his mouth, terrified of what he would find.

 

-

 

“He has been plotting for your death all this time, milord. Look at those infernal things he has been collecting!”

 

Joonmyun cried out silently as strong hands clamped down upon his arms and shoulders, pain shooting up his back as his wrists were pinned to the small of his back. He gritted his teeth when he was bent over the bed, fingers clawing through his robes.

 

The pyracantha spilled, all over the floor, fiery red berries almost glowing in the light.

 

The look on Chanyeol’s face as he looked upon them was devastating, Joonmyun’s heart clenching as he struggled to find a way to explain himself without words.

 

“My love?”

 

Joonmyun bit down hard on his lip, forcing his words back down before he could ruin the spell.

 

One word. One word and everything will have to be redone.

 

“My love tell me this is not what it looks like,” Chanyeol’s tone was desperate, as he knelt before his betrothed, fingers curling into handfuls of pyracantha. “Tell me.”

 

Joonmyun turned his head away, even as his heart screamed at him to explain, to stop the terrible look that was flitting across his beloved’s face. He bit down on his tongue so hard that he tasted metallic blood in his mouth.

 

“There is nothing to say, my lord. Look at the cuts on his fingers, the stains on his skin. It seems clear to me what he has been planning,” the Vizier leered, as the guards yanked Joonmyun away, the sky-blue hem of the Prince’s robes stained with red juice.

 

“No,” Chanyeol stared after him, desolation written all over his face, “no, I refuse to believe this!”

 

His servants cried out in shock as flames engulfed the pile of fire berries, tongues of fire at the drapes around the bed.

 

Joonmyun trembled, tears trickling down his cheeks as his wrists were wrapped with iron cuffs, his ankles shackled to the stone walls.

 

There was enough give in the chains for him to reach into his pocket and his relief was palpable when he felt the shape of the vial beneath layers of cloth.

 

All was not lost yet.

 

-

 

Chanyeol came to his prison often, pleading with him to speak, to tell him the truth. It broke his heart.

 

He could hardly bear to see his lover’s health deteriorate, knowing that he was now one of the reasons for it.

 

But the potion had to be done, if he wished to secure Chanyeol’s health. All of his work would be worth it, if he could restore his lover to his peak, to his right mind.

 

The phoenix helped, bringing him strips of bark from the plant, berries hidden in its mouth. It was as if it knew that Joonmyun only wished to help. It brought him food, berries from plants he could eat and water clutched in its talons.

 

On the days where his fingers ached too much and the cuffs were digging into his flesh, Joonmyun let himself cry, though his hands never stopped.

 

He stripped the bark from branches the phoenix brought him, froze the berries with little waves of his powers. The thorns on the branches were prickly and often unwieldy but with the help of a pocket knife the phoenix has sneaked in for him, he managed.

 

The night of the blood moon was drawing near and the vial was almost full. His fingers were sore and bloody from stripping bark and squeezing berries and he was so tired that he could fall asleep.

 

But he had to prevail. Chanyeol’s life depended on it.

 

-

 

“Joonmyun,” the desperation coating his voice made him look up. It pained him greatly to see how pale and drawn his lover’s face had become, the illness stealing the flesh from his bones.

 

His height made him look even more skeletal than he was as he leant against the metal bars, once bright eyes dull with pain.

 

Joonmyun back the words he longed to say. The blood moon was the next night, and he could not, would not allow himself to fail now.

 

“Joonmyun, please. If you would just speak, if you would explain it to them. They will forgive you,” Chanyeol’s lips were twisted as he pled, his fingers curled around the iron bars as if they were his lifeline.

 

“My love, won’t you speak to me? Won’t you even look at me?”

 

Joonmyun ducked his head, unable to stop the tears were trickling from his eyes. They shone, just as Chanyeol’s did, like opals in the moonlight. He shook his head, feeling pain prick at his chest as Chanyeol swore, kicking the bars in rage.

 

He squeezed his fingers around the berry in his hand, the juice squirting like blood onto his skin as the king turned and left, the bones in his back jutting out of his clothes.

 

Just one more night. He promised himself. Just one more night and he could speak again. If Chanyeol would hear him, he could make things right.

 

He heard things from the prison guards, things that made his blood chill and his skin crawl.

 

News had travelled that he was being tried for treason and his brothers were on their way, with an army on their side. They were furious, certain that it was some ploy by the Pele kingdom to murder their heir.

 

It was difficult for Joonmyun to swallow his protest, to keep down his fear. He just had to wait, hold out until the blood moon. When Chanyeol was well and better, he could explain things.

 

There would be no need for war.

 

That was what he told himself every day, every hour when the despair threatened to overwhelm him.

 

He had to prevail, if not for Chanyeol, for his kingdom and his brothers.

 

-

 

The blood moon was just about rising into the sky when the guards came.

 

Joonmyun panicked when they unshackled him, seizing his arms into iron grips. He could see the red beginning to bleed over the pearly white as he fought them in silence, desperate.

 

He needed more time.

 

The phoenix swooped into the cell as the guards yelled at him for fighting back, squawking and squalling as it dug its talons into flesh. Joonmyun bit down hard on his lips, fighting his terrified cries when the vizier arrived, his bald, round face gleaming as he reached through the fray, grasping his arm.

 

He in a terrified scream as he was dragged out, his arms twisted behind him sharply. The point of a dagger pressed against his throat and he tensed, watching the phoenix grow still.

 

The bird screeched as if in protest and flew off into the night, leaving Joonmyun with the vizier and guards.

 

His wrists were bound carelessly behind his back and he was shoved up the stone steps, his knees buckling from weeks of disuse.

 

The vizier was muttering things to himself, about Aubin and war. Realisation dawned upon Joonmyun as he tried to fight free.

 

If he was killed in plain sight of the Aubin army, his brothers would declare war upon Pele.

 

It would be a war they could not win.

 

_

 

Joonmyun fought as the vizier dragged him to the centre of the courtyard. The ground was stained red by the rays of the bleeding moon, the cracks in the earth making it feel as if they had been transported to hell.

 

He could just barely see his brothers at the front line of the army, their faces distraught as they watched the vizier seize him by the hair, dragging his head back to expose his throat.

 

The moon was above him now, its red rays spilling over his face, coating the land in scarlet light.

 

There was no sign of Chanyeol still, and for a moment, Joonmyun feared that he had not and would not come, that he was already too late.

 

But a screech rang out and a flurry of gold and crimson burst from the palace’s doors, the phoenix leading the way as a figure limped out, clutching a carved cane in his hand.

 

Joonmyun’s heart stuttered.

 

Chanyeol was a sorry sight.

 

His usually brilliant smile was gone, replaced by an expression of sorrow that tugged at his heartstrings. His robes were sagging about his frame, too big on his skinny body.

 

Their eyes locked for a moment and the phoenix screamed, flying straight at him, talons flashing red in the blood moon’s light.

 

Joonmyun twisted, taking advantage of the vizier’s surprise to wrench himself free. He had only moments, as he withdrew the precious vial, tossing it upwards as high as he could.

 

His heart was in his mouth as he watched the gold glint in the light, drawing a striking arc in the air as the phoenix swooped down towards it, its feathers aflame.

 

With a triumphant screech, the bird seized the golden vial in its grip, swooping back to its master before the vizier could realise what had happened.

 

Joonmyun gritted his teeth as his arms were pinned back behind him, biting back the cries he longed to make as his brothers came into full view on horseback, their lips set in determined lines.

 

He watched as the vial was dropped into Chanyeol’s trembling hand, the bird squawking something at him.

 

The king turned to him, one hand curled tight around the cane in his hand. Joonmyun could feel his gaze heavy upon him even as the blade of the vizier’s sword came to rest at his throat.

 

Chanyeol’s tears were shining red as he dropped the cane, uncorking the vial to his vizier’s horror, tipping his head back as he drank.

 

The vial shattered upon the hardened ground as veins of fire flared throughout his body and Joonmyun cried out in relief, his voice so soft that it could hardly be heard in the chaos that followed.

 

He barely registered the pain, and the scream of rage that followed as he was released, rivulets of blood trickling down his neck.

 

His throat had been cut.

 

The phoenix bore down upon him as Chanyeol erupted into a column of flame, his fury so great that he left trails of black in the ground.

 

His vision was blurry as arms wrapped around him, almost too warm to be comfortable.

 

Joonmyun looked up into teary brown eyes and smiled, his hands trembling and bloody as he raised them to wipe away the tears.

 

“Forgive me, my liege,” he whispered and Chanyeol shook his head, his lips pressing against his desperately, “everything I did, I did out of love.”

 

“No, no, no,” the king gasped against him, winding his fingers into sky blue robes, “I refuse this. You will not leave me tonight.”

 

Joonmyun closed his eyes. He could taste his own tears on his lips and the metallic tang of blood and he knew that the end was near. He would welcome it warmly now.

 

A flurry of golden feathers filled his vision and then there was a weight on his chest.

 

The phoenix was perched atop him, staring intently at the crimson red slash across his neck. Its eyes were shining as it tilted its head, a single silver teardrop falling onto his throat.

 

And then he knew no more.

 

-

 

Chanyeol knelt as he watched the wound close over, bowing his head as he cradled his lover close to him.

 

The colour was going back into Joonmyun’s cheeks as he laid him on the ground, his phoenix unmoving as it stared at the prince with watchful eyes. Dry eyes.

 

The sound of hoofbeats made him raise his head, a pair of twin white horses stopping just shy of Joonmyun’s body.

 

“Is he gone?” Prince Jongdae’s voice was hollow, his eyes dim with grief. His fingers were curled tightly around the reins, so tight that his knuckles turned white. His younger brother was not as composed, silver tears already carving tracks down his cheeks.

 

Chanyeol brushed a hand below Joonmyun’s nose, biting his lower lip as he prayed and hoped.

 

There was silence as the blood moon passed overhead, the world so quiet that everyone startled when the phoenix leapt into the air, feathers aflame.

 

The bird crowed, three times and the prince in his arms stirred faintly.

 

Chanyeol’s heart leapt.

 

“My love?” He breathed, hand moving to support Joonmyun’s head as it lolled to the side, the prince’s lashes fluttering.

 

“My liege.”

 

Joonmyun’s voice was soft, weak from disuse and Chanyeol had never been more glad to hear those words in his life.

 

He kissed him hard, sweeping him into his arms in full view of the princes and Aubin army. Joonmyun’s eyes were alight as he kissed back, hands moving to cup his cheek.

 

The blood moon set behind them, as the kingdom celebrated the union, an everlasting peace between two warring kingdoms.