Minseok has been alone a long time, locked in a dull room by his parents with threats of, “Control it, or hurt the ones around you.” The threat was enough to make him stay in his room, too scared to even peek under the door to try and see the world.

  His mother shut him out completely after the accident, refusing to see him even as he pleads for his mothers warmth. He gets his father instead, a strong man who only offers comfort after he freaks out and the room is suddenly covered in ice and snow. The warmth is never enough, heat turned up to ninety in his room, but the ice never melts. He gets used to the cold, letting it mold around his heart.

  He’s told he’s ‘gifted,’ but he hardly considers this a gift because it makes him miserable, but his dad tells him he should be grateful, and he argues how he can be grateful when this ‘gift’ –and he spits the word out- of his has set him apart from his friends, his brothers.

  His brothers.

  Jongin and Jongdae, whose sides he’s been by since they were born. The boys were rays of sunshine, all smiles and laughter in his life that he almost raised because the King and Queen were always busy with trade and product. Jongin and Jongdae always clung at his sides, from the time the sun rose to when the moon woke up. Until Minseok shot Jongin with ice while playing, almost giving him brain damage.

  It was early, the sun barley up, moon still in the sky, and Jongdae and Jongin barged into his room, throwing his door open dramatically and taking turns bouncing on him until he agreed to roll out of bed. Minseok quickly changed into warmer robes and followed his brothers down to the grand hall, stepping in before them. The magic brimmed in his fingers, Jongdae and Jongin’s eyes widening as the threw a gleam of light into the air and snow began to fall.

  They build a snowman, a tall, pathetic thing with a small carrot nose and buttons made out of stones. “His name is Kris,” Minseok tells them, shoving two sticks where his arms should be. “He likes drawing. Maybe one day he’ll draw you.”

  “Snowmen can’t draw!” Jongdae had laughed, swooping forwards to hug the snow.

  “But I have magic, remember?” Minseok had said, grinning. He rubbed his hands together, forming a snowball in his palms. “Wanna fight about it?”

  “Dae, run!” Jongin had squealed, pulling on Jongdae until they were running behind one of the many snow forts they had formed. “Quick, make a snowball, make a snowball! Before he gets us!” The snowball hit Jongin on the side of his face, and he squealed. “Faster, Dae!”

  A snowball hit Minseok square in the chest, and he looked up, laughing. “You’re going to pay for that, Jongdae,” He yelled across their forts to them, using more magic to create an even bigger snowball in his hands. Jongdae ducks out of the way, moving just in time to have it hit Kris, and he laughed. “Stop moving, dummy. You’re making it harder to get you!”

  Jongin snuck up behind him, and rubbed snow into his face, laughing, clinging to his back. “I got you! I got you!”

  “You got me, you got me,” Minseok laughed, pulling him over his shoulder from behind and throwing him in the snow. “Now not so loud. You can’t wake up Moma and Papa, okay?” Jongin nods, giggling, as Jongdae pelts Minseok in the side of the head.

  Things went smoothly, until Jongin bounced from pile of snow to pile of snow, demanding Minseok go higher with each jump and Minseok had never been good at denying him anything, so he did. But Jongdae threw a snowball at him, pushing him off balance, and he slipped, his hand shooting too high up and zapping Jongin in the head with ice.

  Jongin fell to the snow, unconscious, strands of hair turning white, and Jongdae screamed. Minseok ran to his side, telling to Jongdae to get their parents, and he holds Jongin in his arms, trying to warm him up.

  He almost killed his brother, if it weren’t for the trolls saving him. In return, though, his ‘gift’ was erased from both his brothers memory’s, and Minseok was left to wither away behind his bedroom door.

  After years of wearing gloves and his powers only growing stronger, Minseok lost all hope in ever learning to control it. He reduced himself to simple breathing exercises and books to make him forget the pain of his life. His breath always came out in puffs of white and he froze the book pages, making it impossible to turn and to actually read.

  Fast forward to his teen years, after pair of gloves and pair of gloves after the other. Minseok finds his world sliding between his fingers when his parents die during the exchange with Bejing King, the boat not sturdy enough for the waves of the ocean.

  Jongin and Jongdae cry outside his room for days, and Minseok ached to open the door, to pull his brothers into his arms and tell them it would be okay. But his parents threat echoed in his mind. Control it, or hurt the ones around you. And he hasn’t learnt to control it.

  It’s not fair, really, how his life turned out. His brothers needed him, cried for him, but he couldn’t comfort them. All he could do was listen to their constant wails of Minseok, please. I miss you. Why can’t we see you? Minseok. Mom and dad… they’re gone. We need you and pretend like it didn’t tear his heart in two pieces that each of his brothers held in their tiny hands. It wasn’t fair, not to any of them, and he felt bad for the maids that had to console them when they really needed him, wanted him. It hurt.

  Outside, the trees are blowing in the wind, something Minseok hasn’t felt in years and he yearns for it. Outside his door, he hears the maids clamping down the hallway, probably setting up preparations for tonight. The thought of décor and food makes his heart flutter, but the thought of people terrifies him.

  Fear, he’s learned, is one of the hardest things to control. His parents, even if they loved him, conflicted fear into him. He was afraid of his powers, afraid of himself. Overtime, he learned that fear helped control his powers, and since then, he’s decided not to feel anything. 

  He’s supposed to be king. Minseok has come of age, and he’s supposed to take his fathers place under the crown. All the people of Seoul will look up to him, rely on him to make proper trades and keep the country in good enough shape. He’s in charge of the military now, in charge of the factories, in charge of who gets appointed what, and he’s not ready for that responsibility. Not yet.

  The leadership has been upon him. It’s not like it wasn’t coming. He knew it would happen, he was just hoping he’d have his powers in check by the time, but here he is, trembling in his room, waiting for the people to gather and watch him take the crown and finally become who he was destined to be. Why couldn’t it be Jongdae? He’s much more fit for this.

  “King Minseok,” there’s a knock at his door, “When shall we open the gate?”

  “In a little bit,” he replies, quick and almost quiet, but the maid hears him and walks off down the hall.

  He hasn’t eaten. There’s a bowl of porridge and a cup of tea on his dresser, but he hasn’t touched them. The idea of eating makes him feel nauseous, and he can imagine himself vomiting on the guests during coronation. Minseok pulls his gloves on and with a final, shakey breath, steps out of the door.

  “Tell the guards to open th-the gates.”