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The corridors are deserted as Minseok strides through them, sword gripped loosely in his left hand. From the tip of the silver blade drips crimson beads to stain the floor in his wake. 

Junmyeon’s quarters lie behind a mahogany door that Minseok shoves open without formalities, because no one will ever again remind him to Please, Minseok, knock first. No one will ever again deny him that which he wants; that which he dreams of and longs for and craves with an intensity that sometimes feels all-consuming. 

Junmyeon’s most cherished possession startles. His dark eyes take in the sight of Minseok with mounting horror, the healthy flush of his skin draining of colour as his gaze falls to Minseok’s bloody sword. 

“No.”

“Minseok?” Junmyeon looked up from his work and smiled brightly. “What can I do for you?”

Yifan chokes, arms shooting out to catch himself on the backrest of a chair. “He is your brother.”

Minseok closes the door and relishes the way Yifan’s eyes flicker towards his hand as he does. Deliberately, he turns the key until it clicks.

“Was,” he says softly. “He was my brother.”

The noise that escapes Yifan is truly piteous, and he crumbles onto the chair with a sob. Minseok closes the distance between them with leisured steps until he stands at Yifan’s feet. 

Unnecessarily – because he wants to; because he can – he says, “Junmyeon is dead.”

For so long, Junmyeon had been the perfect prince. A beautiful smile and impeccable manners; intelligent and eloquent; kind and patient; the gem of the kingdom, and blessed with a handsome consort.

When Minseok drove the sword through him, he took advantage of the momentum and pushed until the blade struck the back of the chair. Junmyeon’s cry wilted into a pained gasp, and Minseok caught him as he crumbled. 

“Min... seok… W–… w-why…”

Minseok sighed contentedly and carded his fingers gently through Junmyeon’s hair. “At last.”

Junmyeon’s voice broke when Minseok gripped the sword by the hilt and pulled it out. It was almost a shame that Junmyeon had decided on white today, but then it made for a pristine canvas as crimson spread like a mist. 

“Yifan will no longer be yours.”

Yifan had come to the kingdom several years ago as part of a foreign delegation. He had chosen to settle, charmed by Minseok’s kingdom, but more charmed by Junmyeon’s smile. 

Minseok had tried. By the gods, he had tried.

Intimate dinners, strolls along the paths around the castle lake, several visits to the Royal Menagerie, conversations until the early hours of morning, lavish gifts –

And yet, none of it had been enough. Minseok hadn’t been enough.

But Junmyeon, Minseok’s precious little brother – he had gained Yifan’s affection, the same way he had gained the kingdom’s devotion: With little more than a damned smile. Minseok was the king, yet it was the prince everyone loved. 

Hatred settled like a vicious chill in his bones; like ice in his veins – and on the worst of nights, when no quilt could starve off the cold, he feared it would destroy him lest he took the reins. He had tried to talk to Yifan, tried to convince him that he was better suited at a king’s side, but Yifan would not listen.

It had left Minseok with no other choice. To save himself from the chill within, he had to eliminate the reason it was there.

“Do you think Junmyeon blames you?” Minseok asks softly.

Yifan shoots to his feet and shoves at Minseok. “Don’t you dare!” He rubs furiously at his tears and glares at Minseok, albeit some of the heat is lost to his grief. “You killed him. You…” He breaks off into a whimpered sob. “You killed him.”

“It was the only way,” Minseok says coolly. “If you had not refused to see reason… If you had just come to me instead of him, this would not have happened. My brother would still be alive.”

“Liar,” Yifan croaks. 

“It’s too late now.”

Bitterly, Yifan says, “So you murdered him to have me, is that it?”

Minseok moves forward, silently amused when Yifan flinches, and carefully wipes away a tear from Yifan’s cheek just as another one falls. 

“He could not have given you what I can,” Minseok murmurs.

Yifan laughs, but it’s a wretched sound. “You cannot give me what he did. I chose him for a reason, Your Majesty.” He enounces the title like it is something particularly vile. “I do not want your attention.”

Minseok, quick and effortless, grasps Yifan’s jaw and tugs him down to press a firm kiss to his mouth. His arm snakes around Yifan’s midriff when he struggles, the hilt of the sword possibly digging into his back. Yifan is tall, but Minseok is stronger and more capable; he has trained since childhood to use his smaller stature to his advantage against bulkier adversaries. He digs his nails into Yifan’s skin and does not budge, nor does he allow Yifan to slip away. Instead, Yifan draws blood with his teeth.

“You may not like me now,” Minseok breathes against Yifan’s lips, tongue darting out to curiously at the wound from Yifan’s teeth, “but if you know what is good for you, you will learn to love me.”

“You will not bully me into doing anything,” Yifan snarls. His fingers are splayed defensively against Minseok’s chest and his eyes, while red-rimmed, are glinting furiously. “The king you may be, but you do not get to have everything you want.”

“Junmyeon’s consultant,” says Minseok lowly, “will have sounded the alarm by now. He is accompanied by my most trusted friend, as the two would have gone to see Junmyeon for questions regarding the restoration of the Grand Library. They will soon come looking for me with the regrettable news of my beloved brother’s passing at the hands of an assassin. The kingdom, and I with it, will mourn him for seven days, as is custom.

“You, his consort, will be fraught with grief. You will refuse to see anyone as you slowly work through the loss of him, but eventually you will emerge once more, and you will thank me for the comfort I have offered you as you mourned.”

“You are locking me up,” Yifan realises faintly.

Minseok brushes his mouth across Yifan’s cheekbone, faint traces of salt catching on his lips; he savours the taste. He can feel the minuscule tremors under his hands, and he smiles.

“In time, you will yield to me.”

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Theme: Seven Deadly Sins. Also, it was Minseok's birthday week!

Fun fact: Working title for this was “Kill His Brother” because I am immensely entertained by my own humour.

I had a few different ideas for this challenge. The one I initially wanted ended with Minseok dead, but I realised it would… probably be in poor taste to off the birthday boy, so instead he got to live. But at what cost?

This version of the ficlet has... approximately 100 words more than the original on AO3. Whooo!

Hope you enjoyed!