Junmyeon wakes up slowly.

There is warmth behind him and beneath him. He is moving. Fresh air caresses his face. It is dark, the night wrapped tightly around his surroundings. There are no sounds at first, but when he focuses, he can hear the clippity-clop of horseshoes.

He realises two things at once: He is on a horse, and he is going to be sick.

Instinctively, he twists his body to the side to avoid throwing up on the horse. His mouth tastes like something died in it, and he heaves one last time. Spitting does not remove the vile taste.

“Oops,” someone says, and Junmyeon freezes.

He recognises that voice.

It also dawns on him that his hands are tied up with rope, and that he was supposed to be dead. Wasn’t he?

“All right,” the assassin is saying, “hear me out now –”

“Hear you out?” Junmyeon demands, and even to himself he sounds hysterical. “You murdered my father. My father! The king. Then you – you poison me, and now you have kidnapped me, and you still expect me to hear you out?” 

“Your father was a horrible ruler,” the assassin drawls. “But please, do continue.”

“He was my father!” Junmyeon cries, and feels horrifyingly close to tears. He has already cried once in front of this man.

“Oy,” the man snaps when Junmyeon attempts to get off the horse. “Stay – still –”

“Release me,” Junmyeon demands, albeit it resembles a plea more than an order and comes out dangerously wobbly. It reminds him of Minseok’s smile before he left the study, which is a thought that nearly crushes him. Minseok – 

“Is he alive?” he chokes as the man brings the horse to a halt. 

“The king remains untouched, as promised,” the assassin says and dismounts. He reaches for Junmyeon as though to help him down. Junmyeon flinches away. The assassin arches an eyebrow and shrugs. “Suit yourself. See if you can get down without my help.”

Junmyeon tries, and he does manage to dismount without too much trouble, but his legs quiver beneath him and nausea rises to his throat once more. The assassin catches him when he drops, which is apparently becoming a thing.

“Thought so,” says the assassin and nudges him until he is leaning heavily into the horse to wait out the light-headedness. “Here.” He holds out a letter. “From your brother. He told me to make sure you read it to help you understand, or I might decide you are not worth the trouble. My words, not his, but the underlying meaning was the same.”

Junmyeon dumbly takes the folded parchment and stares at it. His eyes are still adjusting to the darkness.

The assassin crosses his arms. “Well?”

“You are trying to manipulate me,” Junmyeon says, because it is the only thing that makes sense at the moment. 

The man rolls his eyes. “Read the letter. Your brother ciphered it so I would be unable to read it.” He lifts his shoulder in a shrug. “I tried.”

Junmyeon, overwhelmed, unfolds the letter. The assassin is either eerily good at forging Minseok’s handwriting, or this really was written by Minseok. At a glance, the characters are nonsense even to him. It takes a few seconds before he starts to recognise the patterns of the cipher he was taught by Minseok and their father. Thus, he begins to read.

Dearest brother,

It is with a heavy heart that I am writing this letter to you, but I will do my best to explain as much as I can in as few words as possible. 

There is a plot against the crown. To ensure your survival, I bought Yixing’s loyalty. He will protect you until it is safe to return – but if you ever think he may harm you, I hid a phial of poison masquerading as a pendant in your cloak. It is lethal. Keep it with you at all times and make sure Yixing never finds out what it contains. Yixing has the satchel with it and some other belongings I thought you might appreciate. 

There is no one at the castle I would trust with your life.

Our father was not a good man, Junmyeon. He was selfish and arrogant, and he did not care whom he hurt so long as he got what he wanted. He persecuted those who did not share his worldview, dealt with slavery, and gambled away fortunes that should have been spent on the people. He once approved a massacre under the guise of suppressing rebels and must have ordered the deaths of several innocents because he could not be bothered to locate the real culprits.

I never wished death on him, but a part of me cannot help but breathe easier now that he is gone. I wish he could have atoned for his sins in a way that would have given him a chance to learn from them, but I fear nothing could have. 

I know you loved him. I am sorry for deceiving you. In this, I am no better than him. Still, I expect you to respect my choices. 

Forgive me for the hurt I have, and will, cause you.

I love you.

Minseok

“Yixing,” Junmyeon says and looks up from the letter to the assassin – to Yixing. 

Yixing lifts an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“What did my brother say to you?”

“You will have to be a bit more specific than that, Your Highness,” Yixing trills. “We had a couple of long conversations, you see, and –” 

Junmyeon cuts him off. “Does he expect to die?”

“Yes.”

“Then I am taking the horse,” Junmyeon mutters. He holds out his hands. “Untie me.”

Yixing scoffs. “Are you going back?”

“I am not leaving him to die!”

“If you want to die, then please, go ahead,” Yixing drawls. “I will not stop you, but I will also not follow you.”

“It is your responsibility to protect me.”

“And I will, but if you are unwilling to be protected, it is not worth my time. I, unlike you, do not wish to die a meaningless death.”

“You would leave your last family behind knowing they might die without so much as trying to help them?” Junmyeon cries. 

Yixing looks at him with hard eyes. “If they were desperate enough to negotiate for my safety with an assassin, the very same one who had just murdered my father, then yes, I would respect their dying wish and stay away.”

“Clearly you have no love in your heart for any family you may have!” Junmyeon sneers. “I suppose you have no family, which is why you care naught for the families you rip apart when you in cold blood murder a father or a mother.”

“Your father,” Yixing says, and for once his voice is pitched so low it sounds like Junmyeon might need that phial from Minseok sooner rather than later, “was some of the worst scum of this world. His death is no one’s loss.”

Junmyeon angrily crumbles the letter in his fist. “You will not speak ill of him. I have mourned him since your dagger took away his life. He was my father. He would never lay hand on me or treat me unkindly. He –”

“And your brother? Did his kindness extend to him? Did he ever mistreat him?”

Junmyeon in a sharp breath. “You dare –”

“I asked your brother which room at the castle he hated the most,” Yixing cuts in, “and his answer was your father's study. Do you have any theories why that might be?”

“Nearly all his lessons with Father were in there,” Junmyeon says, wanting to sound confident but knowing he falls short. “Father expected more of him because he was his heir, so he might have… might have been harder on him than he was on me, but he would never have mistreated him.”

“Are you certain?” Yixing asks. 

Junmyeon wants to say yes. He wishes he could say yes, but instead his gaze falls back to the letter. 

Minseok has always sought to protect him. He is protecting him now, even if Junmyeon fiercely disagrees with the way he went about it. There is absolutely no chance that he did not know about the tea being poisoned when he came by that evening. He was fully aware what would happen, had been the one to invite Junmyeon to drink it, but not even Junmyeon’s trauma after witnessing their father’s death had changed his mind. 

It had been close. Junmyeon recalls the hesitance in Minseok’s words and movements. 

He wonders how Minseok could think it was all right to deceive Junmyeon – to say nothing and instead leave him to look into cruel eyes and think he was going to die. He wonders if it were an easy decision to make, to entrust his life to a cold-hearted murderer. 

He needs time before he can forgive what has been done.

He holds out his hands again. “Untie me.”

Yixing wordlessly procures a dagger – not the same one he used to kill Junmyeon’s father; Junmyeon is not sure he could stand to see it again – from an inner pocket and cuts through the rope. “There,” he says as Junmyeon carefully rubs his wrists; the rope barely chafed his skin, but the ghost of their restrictive embrace remains. “Will you be returning to the castle to die, then? If you ask nicely, they might bury you next to your brother.”

Junmyeon glares at him. “I want you to return to him. He needs your protection more than I do. Name your price.”

Yixing blinks at him, and then he dissolves into laughter. “Oh, no. No, no, no. I am never going back there. Besides, my loyalty is with him now, not you. Returning to the castle would be in conflict with his request. Nothing you can offer me will change that.”

Junmyeon scowls. “Someone else, then! You must know someone. Anyone.”

“I know many someones,” Yixing says, laughter still dancing in his eyes. “One or two of them might already be in the capital.”

“Is there any way for you to get in contact with them?” Junmyeon demands. 

Yixing sneers. “We are assassins, not nursemaids. Your brother was well-spoken and I was rather easily convinced to give this a go. I suppose most everyone could be easily convinced when what awaits them should they reject is a beheading. Do not expect other assassins to be as committed as I.”

“I suppose I will just have to ask them myself, then, shall I?” Junmyeon snaps. “All of you have a price. For the right one, I am certain I can convince one of your friends to protect Minseok.”

“Just being an assassin does not make them my friends,” Yixing snaps. He purses his lips. “I will find a way to get a message to one of them. Does that satisfy His Highness’ demands?”

“How will I know you speak the truth?” Junmyeon asks. “For all I know you could be lying to my face with no intentions of getting in touch with one of them.”

Yixing arches an eyebrow and smiles. “Ah, I suppose you will have to trust me. Your brother trusts me, no? Do you not trust your brother’s judgement?”

“I have been severely doubting it since I woke up on horseback and learned my father’s murderer is tasked with my protection,” Junmyeon says icily. 

“That is not my problem,” Yixing says. “Do you want my protection or not?”

“You killed my father.”

“And I did not kill you or your brother despite having every opportunity to do so.” Yixing nudges at Junmyeon until he steps aside so he can swing himself back into the saddle. From there, he looks expectantly down at Junmyeon. “You will either come with me and respect your brother’s wishes, or you can go back there and face him yourself. What will you choose?”

Junmyeon looks towards the direction of the capital. He vaguely recognises their surroundings. They must not be far from the main road that leads back to the capital, back to Minseok. On foot, it would take no more than a couple of hours before he is behind castle walls once more. 

“How will you get a message to your friends?” Junmyeon asks quietly.

Yixing sighs the sigh of the world-weary. “Most likely in the next town we pass through.”

“Once there, we will also get another horse,” Junmyeon says. His stomach is still unsettled from the poisons, but he feels steady enough on his feet.

“Of course,” Yixing says, and he is back to being faintly amused. He holds out a hand. “Shall we?”

Junmyeon deliberately steps around the proffered hand and instead grabs onto the saddle. He swings himself up behind Yixing, silently thanking whomever had the foresight to dress the horse with a double-seated saddle. 

Yixing is chuckling as he urges the horse forwards. Junmyeon tries to tune him out.

There is much for him to think about. One such thing is the phial Minseok allegedly packed for him. 

Junmyeon might just feed it to Yixing just to spite him.

~

They ride for hours in stifling silence until the outskirts of a town opens up before them. Junmyeon has determinedly given close to no thought to the assassin in front of him and the reason he is here at all. As soon as his thoughts strayed, he had to seize them to rein them in or risk a breakdown. 

He needs solitude. He needs to be somewhere without Yixing to not be reminded every moment of how much his life has changed over the past three – three; it already feels like a lifetime ago – days. He needs to read Minseok’s letter again. He needs to dig deep into his memories to see if he can catch a glimpse of the man Minseok claims their father was, to see if all this time he just refused to see the signs. 

He hates Yixing all the more for being the one to bring it up, but he also needs to look back and see if there were signs of Minseok taking the brunt of their father’s anger with his body. He knows they fought, and that they fought a lot, their shouting often carrying down the corridor from the study. Junmyeon always left the vicinity when he heard them. 

He needs the phial. 

The town is quiet as they ride through it. Only a few people are out and about, and no one spares them a second glance. Junmyeon wonders what time it is. He has refused to say a word to Yixing since he got back into the saddle, and Yixing has been silent in return. 

He knows a single wrong word out of Yixing’s smiling mouth could either cause another brawl or send him straight back to the castle. The pull is there, his conscience telling him to turn back, to help his brother and stay far away from the assassin. His skin itches just being near him and his heart won’t settle. 

“Ah,” Yixing says. Junmyeon startles. “There, the inn I had in mind.” He slows the horse until it stops in front of a large building. A sign hanging from the awning reads The Tipsy Leaf. “We will buy a room using your brother’s generous donation and –”

“Two rooms,” Junmyeon says. 

“One room,” Yixing says, tone brooking no arguments. Junmyeon desperately wants to acquaint his fists with Yixing’s face. “You also want a second horse, and I would rather not be wasteful with your brother’s coins. One room will suffice.”

He gets down from the horse and stretches his limbs while making contentedly noises. He watches in mild amusement as Junmyeon dismounts with a grimace; he is not used to being on horseback for hours on end. 

“If the thought of sharing a bed with me scares you, prince, rest assured,” Yixing drawls. “I will be running a few errands. One of them includes getting a message to the capital for you. You will have the room entirely to yourself. I recommend you rest.”

“I recommend you die,” Junmyeon mutters. Yixing’s laughter makes the small hairs on his neck rise.

“You might want to leave all that contempt at the doorstep,” Yixing says. “After all,” he hums and closes the distance between them with a single step, trapping Junmyeon between the horse and his body, “we will be getting rather close if I am to keep you safe until your brother has dealt with the grown-up affairs. Perhaps this arrangement would even benefit greatly if you were to turn that hate into… something useful while we are stuck together, hm?”

Junmyeon’s heart skips several beats, which has more to do with having Yixing so close and less to do with Yixing’s vile suggestions. “You killed –”

“Yes, yes, I murdered your dearest father.” Yixing makes an offhanded gesture with his hand, and when he drops it, it falls on the saddle, caging Junmyeon in further. “We established that several times already. Get over it. Your father was as much of a murderer as I am.” He tilts his head and smiles, all pointed edges. “I will even wager my life and claim his body count far surpasses mine.”

“You will not speak of him,” Junmyeon hisses. He wonders if the horse will keep putting up with this or move; his back digs into the saddle with how much he leans away from Yixing. 

“What will you do?” Yixing purrs. “Run back to your brother and be the reason he dies?”

“I will kill you.”

“Oh?” Yixing arches an eyebrow. His smile morphs into a grin, his eyes darkly amused. “You will kill me? How do you think that will go?”

Junmyeon clenches his hands into fists and makes to strike Yixing’s damned face, but Yixing reacts instantly to the threat and seizes Junmyeon’s wrists without much resistance, much to Junmyeon’s chagrin. “I do not think so, prince.” Junmyeon bares his teeth at him and wonders if he has the slightest chance of biting Yixing’s ear off if he tries.

He probably does not.

“Now –” Yixing gathers Junmyeon’s hands atop the saddle and leans forward until his body is flush with Junmyeon’s, his curved mouth brushing the tip of Junmyeon’s ear as he continues in a near-whisper, “I will give you the satchel your brother packed for you before I took you with me. We will go inside, and I will ask the innkeeper for a room. In the meantime, you may find the pouch of coins your brother packed somewhere in there. Be somewhat furtive about it, will you? We don’t want you to flaunt our riches and practically beg anyone to mug us.”

He releases Junmyeon’s hands and backs off, and Junmyeon releases the breath he has been holding back. He feels shaken to the core, and he hates it. His skin tingles; he wishes for a bath or a lake to dive into, clothes be damned. Perhaps he would stay underwater until he ran out of air.

“Come,” Yixing says. He cheerfully pats Junmyeon’s cheek, but the smile he offers is nothing short of condescending. In the other hand he holds a satchel, which he offers Junmyeon. Junmyeon takes it wordlessly. It is heavier than it looked in Yixing’s grasp. For some reason that makes him want to throw it away.

He follows Yixing into the inn with reluctant steps. A cursory glance around the hall reveals two patrons; one appears to be sleeping atop the table, and the second seems deeply involved in his mug. Patrons aside, the tired-looking elderly man behind the counter looks up and greets them with a stiff nod.

“Good morning,” Yixing says, and his voice has taken a turn for the worse – or the better, in this case. It is pleasant, light; a stark contrast to what one might expect from a deranged murderer. 

Junmyeon wants to tell the barman to be careful because the seemingly demure man in front of him asking for a stable for the horse and a room just until noon is as dangerous as he is cunning. 

Junmyeon has not been in the right state of mind to take in Yixing’s appearance, to get a good look at him, but now he forces himself to actually look at his father’s murderer. He etches every little detail into his memory so he will never forget; so he can spot Yixing even amongst a crowd of thousands.

Yixing’s face is youthful with only a few scars; one across his left eyebrow and one on his chin, and a couple of less eye-catching ones. Junmyeon has no way of knowing how young Yixing is, but he doubts he is older than thirty. His eyes are a dark brown, so dark they are nearly black, and his raven hair is tied into a loose ponytail at the top of his head. His clothes and cloak conceal his physique from Junmyeon’s scrutiny, but he already knows he is lean; he has caught sight of muscles and felt the strength behind them. He stands at about the same height as Junmyeon, only slightly taller.

“Lovely,” Yixing is saying. “How much will it be?”

Junmyeon looks into the satchel and recognises his cloak immediately. Reminding himself to find the phial once alone in the room, he digs around in the satchel for any sign of – aha. He grasps the pouch and brings it to top; it is weighty with coins. They chink as he moves it, which reminds him to be careful with it. 

“Eight wholes for the room, three wholes for the horse,” Yixing repeats. His gaze falls to Junmyeon expectantly, so Junmyeon fishes eleven wholes out of the pouch and puts them on the counter. The barman gives them a glance before he nods and turns around.

“I’ll find a key for you.”

They are silent as they wait for him to return, which he does shortly. The man hands Yixing an old key and jerks his head towards the stairs. “Second door on the right. I’ll get the horse stabled.”

“Thank you,” Yixing says. Junmyeon looks away from his dimpled smile and instead begins to walk in the direction of the room. He hears Yixing follow him, his footfalls near silent. He supposes an assassin is mindful of any noises they make. 

“I can take the key,” Junmyeon says.

“No need,” Yixing says. “I will take a quick look and then leave.”

Junmyeon stiffens, but he says nothing and instead focuses on putting one foot in front of the other until he stands in front of the door. Yixing inserts the key and twists it, waiting for the lock to click before pushing the door open. 

The room is simple. There is a bed, a small table, and a chair. The bed looks uncomfortable, but Junmyeon is too taut to care. The sight of it reminds him he has not slept since last night, not counting the time he spent unconscious, and as though needing the incentive, the exhaustion he felt yesterday slams into him. He wants nothing more than to just lie down and pass out. 

But Yixing is still here, and he is humming to himself as he looks at the room at large. 

“This is all right,” he says. He turns to Junmyeon and holds out his hand. “Give me the satchel.”

Junmyeon instinctively tightens his grip on it. “No.”

Yixing sighs and wiggles his fingers towards him. “The pouch. I need coins.”

“They are mine,” Junmyeon says. “Do you not have your own?”

The smile that slithers onto Yixing’s face is without amusement. “Do you honestly think the guards let me keep anything? Don’t be foolish. They took everything.”

“They did not take your weapons,” Junmyeon points out.

“They did,” Yixing says, “but your dear brother agreed to let me keep them on the pledge that I would not use them on you. Do not tempt me now.” He motions at Junmyeon. “Give me the pouch. The coins are my payment, as well.”

Junmyeon takes the pouch and throws it at Yixing. Unfortunately, Yixing catches it before it can hit his face. Yixing lifts his eyebrows, but makes no further remark. He counts a few coins before he tosses the pouch back to Junmyeon, who manages to save himself from humiliation by catching it. 

“Rest,” Yixing says and moves towards the door. “I will return later. If you are still here by then, we will go for another ride.” His smile this time is darkly amused. “You see, this town, with its close proximity to the capital, will know about your alleged death and my subsequent escape before long. They will be looking for me now as the assassin who murdered not just the king, but also you. We need to be long gone before they start hanging up posters of my face.”

Junmyeon does not want to travel with Yixing. He desperately wants nothing to do with him. He does not say so, but Yixing’s shrewd gaze seems to read his mind. “Be here at noon. If you are not, I will consider my deal with your brother void and leave without you. Your life will be in your own hands.”

Without waiting for an answer, Yixing leaves through the door. 

Too late, Junmyeon realises Yixing took the key with him.

~

There is a plot against the crown. 

There is no one at the castle I would trust with your life.

Junmyeon finds himself, now more than ever, viciously regretting never demanding to be told about the affairs in the kingdom or seeking that knowledge himself. He has always been perfectly content letting his father manage the kingdom and leaving Minseok to the duties of the heir. As the second-born prince, Junmyeon never had any actual obligations or expectations to measure up to.

Minseok had always been the one who would one day take over the throne. He was the one everyone looked to when their father was not around. He was the one expected to marry into old blood families and ensure the next heir. 

Junmyeon has always been free to, by and large, do what he wanted. It is what he prefers. Few would bat an eyelash if he failed to show up for a banquet or forgot a courtesy. If Minseok did either of those, there would be whispers in the corners and their father would sternly tell him to meet him in the study.

Had their father ever beaten Minseok?

With his head in his hands, Junmyeon recalls every memory he has of Minseok leaving the study after arguing with their father. Nothing comes to mind, but he is terrified that it is because he has repressed the obvious signs. Would he have done that? Would he have wilfully ignored Minseok’s hurt if it meant he didn’t have to face it?

He doesn’t want to give any more thoughts to Yixing’s stupid insinuations, wishes it had not been Yixing. He longs to return to Minseok’s side and ask him point-blank if their father ever hurt him. He wants to hear it from Minseok, wants to believe Minseok would not keep such things from him. 

How did Yixing, of all people, come to that conclusion after scarcely more than a few hours with Minseok, whereas Junmyeon has known Minseok his whole life and has never given it a single thought? How has he managed to remain completely ignorant about the cruel side of his father that Minseok knew all about?

And Yixing. The damned assassin knew.

Who else knew? 

Is he, one of the closest people to his father, the only one who didn’t know?

He is going to tear out his hair if he keeps thinking about it, so he instead snatches the satchel and empties its contents onto the bed. 

There is his cloak, the pouch, another set of plain clothes – he has to believe Minseok was the one to change his clothes after he fell unconscious to the poison; he has to – a book, ink and a quill, and a paper-wrapped package that ends up containing the rest of the cakes from yesterday evening.

Junmyeon’s stomach turns violently at the sight of them.

He wonders if he will ever be able to eat those cakes again without being thrown back to that evening and feeling helpless and terrified as he stared into the eyes of his father’s murderer and thought they would be the last he saw.

He wraps them up again with every intention of throwing them out later.

There is no way he is offering them to Yixing.

Next up is the phial, which he finds hidden away in an inner pocket after patting the cloak down. The phial is smaller than his little finger and about as thick. It is made of solid glass and set in a teardrop of some dark metal. The top is closed with a tiny cork. 

There is less than a teaspoon full of clear poison inside the pendant, but if Junmyeon is to trust Minseok’s word, it is absolutely enough to kill Yixing. 

The pendant comes with a thin chain, so Junmyeon puts it around his neck and closes it. He packs the satchel again, leaves it sitting against one of the bed legs, and collapses back onto the bed. He throws an arm over his eyes and sighs.

The door remains unlocked and Yixing is gods-know-where, and Junmyeon feels unsettled. His eyes burn, but he does not know if he can fall asleep. 

He does not know if he should stay.

Minseok trusted their father’s murderer with Junmyeon’s protection. How could he? Junmyeon does not care what their father might or might not have done when it comes to this: Minseok willingly struck a deal with an assassin he didn’t know for sure if he could trust. Neither of them knows, but Junmyeon is leaning towards definitely not and the phial of poison. 

Minseok, for some gods forsaken reason, decided to lie to Junmyeon’s face; to lure him into a trap; to make him believe the poisoned tea would kill him; to deceive him worse than Junmyeon has ever been deceived before. 

Why?

Minseok could have talked with him. Minseok could have been honest with him. Minseok did not have to let an assassin hide somewhere whilst Junmyeon, like a fool, sat down to drink poison so they could trick the kingdom into thinking he had been murdered. Junmyeon would have played along if Minseok had only told him. 

So why, instead, had Minseok decided to hurt him? 

Why did Minseok insist on being the only one to defend his throne against his opposition and risk his life for it? 

Junmyeon knows he will be the last living heir of royal blood if Minseok dies. It is just not fair that Minseok had given him no choice. 

~

Blessedly, Junmyeon wakes up and cannot remember having dreamed of anything. He is also convinced it is nowhere near noon yet. Fatigue still lingers in his limbs, but now his stomach also growls. 

He weighs his options for a bit, eyes closed in the hopes it might coax him back asleep. When it does not work and his stomach growls again, he decides to just get up and see if the inn serves breakfast. Unwilling to leave the satchel unguarded, he takes it with him downstairs.

The hall has more patrons now than when they arrived, but not by a lot. Day has replaced the darkness with an early morning sun. He thinks the time might be somewhere between nine and ten. 

The old barkeeper has also been replaced by a young man who cheerfully wipes the counter down while chatting with one of the patrons. 

Junmyeon approaches slowly, wondering what they could be talking about. Yixing said it would not be long before everyone knew about Junmyeon’s alleged death, but the man and the patron seem to be talking about her family. 

“Ah, what can I do for you?” the man asks as soon as he sees Junmyeon. 

“Breakfast, please, if you could,” Junmyeon says and slides into a seat.

“Right away,” the man says and leaves. Junmyeon opens the pouch to count some coins, but he does not know how much the breakfast costs, so he ends up just putting two wholes on the counter. Considering the price for the room, this should be enough to cover the price for a meal. 

The man returns with a bowl of steaming porridge with apple slices and nuts, a bun, and a mug of what appears to be juice. He takes the coins, disappears, and returns shortly with six halves. Junmyeon mutters thanks and digs the spoon into the porridge as the man picks up his conversation with the woman. 

Junmyeon listens to the low murmur of chatter around the hall. Nothing catches his attention until halfway through the porridge with the arrival of a small group of four. They are already deep in conversation when they come through the door, but the topic is one that immediately freezes Junmyeon to the spot.

“– the fire,” one of them says.

“It is terrible,” another says, tutting. “The poor king. They say he looks haunted.”

“Well, of course! So suddenly, too! It’s a wonder…”

Their voices fade as they find a spot in one of the furthest corners. Junmyeon curses silently and glances at the barkeeper and the woman, who are both looking towards the group with small frowns. Junmyeon decides to go for it, too curious not to.

“What happened?” he asks.

The woman startles slightly and turns to him. She smiles sadly and shakes her head. “The prince,” she says. “The king formally declared him dead just this morning. Castle servants heard him call for help, they say, but when they tried to get to him the path was blocked by a fire.”

“The official statement from the king is that he was expecting to meet the prince in the old king’s quarters for tea last night,” the man continues, “which is where the fire started. When they finally managed to douse the flames, there was little but ashes left. And just as well – the assassin who murdered the old king escaped the castle prison sometime that night.”

“Some are already blaming him for the prince’s death, too,” the woman says.

“It seems likely,” the barkeeper says. “The prince should have been able to escape the fire. It is not so far-fetched at all that the assassin is somehow behind all of this. The prince did put him in prison, after all.”

“And what of – of the king?” Junmyeon asks. “How is he dealing with the loss?”

“Admirably, they say,” the woman answers, “although he is visibly affected by his brother’s death. He showed himself this morning long enough to confirm the rumours and declare this a day of mourning. Then he went back into the castle. Last I heard, he wishes to mourn in peace.”

Mourn what, Junmyeon cannot help but wonder bitterly. He certainly mourns the days he believed Minseok to have his back. 

Yet he still wants to return to the castle to help and comfort his brother. 

“It is quite a tragedy,” the woman sighs. Junmyeon nods wordlessly. “To think they just lost their father, and now the youngest prince, too…”

Junmyeon sees an opportunity and seizes it. “Do you think the old king deserved to die?”

The woman startles. “Deserved to die –! I do not think –”

“Calm down, Minji,” the man says, huffing out a laugh. “Do I think he deserved to die?” He hums. “Can’t say. It gets gradually harder to support and defend a king who is repeatedly reported to have been seen gambling with his officials in shady places.”

“Friends of friends would reveal to me he used to force them into ual favours,” Minji mutters. “At the threat of their lives, usually.”

Junmyeon stares at the leftover porridge in his bowl and feels too nauseous to finish it. “Do you think he hurt his sons?”

“I don’t know,” Minji says. Her lips are pursed in thought. “No one saw much of the youngest prince, and the other… It’s hard to say what went on behind the castle walls.”

“I think there may have been rumours,” the barkeeper says, “on and off over the years. Castle servants, old or new, would sometimes claim both princes had to suffer their father’s brutal hand, whilst others objected and said it was only one or the other, but nothing has ever been confirmed.”

“Say, are you new around here?” Minji asks, and it takes Junmyeon a moment too long to realise he is being asked a question.

“I am just passing by,” he murmurs. He has been twirling the porridge around with the spoon while he listened, but now he puts it down. “I heard rumours, that's all.”

The man hums. “Well, there is a lot of pressure on the king now to marry so he can secure an heir. He is still young, but it is not unimaginable that some might seize the chance to dethrone him before he can rise to power. The successful assassination on the old king will have emboldened some.”

The phial of poison burns against Junmyeon’s skin. “I see.” He pushes the bowl away and gets to his feet. “Thank you for the meal – and for answering my questions.”

He does not want to disappoint Minseok. He can imagine clearly the look of dismay on Minseok’s face should he, despite Minseok’s efforts, choose to return. The capital knows of his death now and the news will spread like a wildfire to the very edges of the kingdom. If Junmyeon returns to the castle, he could be compromising Minseok’s newly-acquired authority by making it seem like Minseok lied about his death – which he did, but still – or perhaps even wanted him gone for his own benefit. 

It would only serve to endanger Minseok’s position, and thereby his life, further. By going back, Junmyeon could unwittingly ruin all of Minseok’s carefully laid-out plans. 

He hates that it has come to this.

He goes back to the room, drops the satchel, and stares at the table as he considers pushing it in front of the door to block it. 

Minseok needs him, but he needs him alive more. Junmyeon hates him for taking that decision away from him, hates him for the way he went about it, but he recognises the love that guided his choices. 

He has to stay hidden, has to stay away from the capital, from Minseok. He does not want to be the crown prince, but he is, and he has to start acting like it. The kingdom needs him alive if anything should happen to Minseok. 

The bed beckons him, and he longs for sleep with no dreams. He wants nothing more than for everything to go back to normal, but normal was bad. He cannot go back to normal when normal means having a cruel father. He cannot forgive that.

How quickly adoration turns to contempt, he thinks bitterly and buries his face in the pillow. He still loves his father, which he suspects he might always do, but that love will fester and feed the resentment he can feel building up within him. 

He hates himself for still thinking everything would have been easier if he had continued to live in ignorance. 

He doesn’t want to be that ignorant prince any longer.