It’s barely even into the first half of the ball when Jongin finds that he is, undeniably, tired of the festivities.

He should be used to this by now. On any other day, he might have had more patience and poise - but right now he’s feeling the weight of his title, the strain of holding the same, stiff smile on his face and making small meaningless talk with the gentry.

The young lady whom he had been engaged in conversation with leans closer, asking him a question. She’s the second daughter of a minor lord who supplies salted goods to the outlying kingdoms, and known for her beauty within the court. However, from Jongin’s viewpoint, she’s as boring as a stone wall.

She smiles coyly; from this angle, Jongin has a glimpse of her rather well-endowed chest, the calculating in her eyes, and suppresses a groan. This makes her the fifteenth one tonight to pull the same move on him, an act which he is beginning to find quite tiresome.

Jongin silently begs for the gods to take pity on him.

Someone clears his throat nearby, and Jongin looks up to find one of the palace servants hovering nearby. He looks as if he’s arrived with a message, so Jongin allows him to speak. “Excuse me, Your Highness, but Prince Luhan and Prince Jongdae have requested for your presence in the library,” he says.

Jongin glances at the lord’s daughter, who looks put out at further being denied his presence. "My lady, if you would excuse me-” His voice is filled with regret that he does not feel as he bows with the correct amount of grace, hoping to would soothe her bruised feelings.

It works, and she gives him a bright smile, her fingers clutching at his a little longer as she breathlessly tells him that she will look forward to seeing him the next event again.

Jongin makes his escape in relief, trying not to seem overeager as he heads straight to the library.

It’s less of a library and more of a game room - one that Prince Jongdae has equipped with comfortable couches, a large television screen on the wall and a well-stocked fridge. The only books here are whatever high society magazines their assistants had left for them, their images splashed across the front pages.

The First Prince of the Eastern Kingdom of Xin looks up as Jongin enters the room, and his face falls.

"Well, don’t look so excited," Jongin comments dryly. “You might hurt your jaw that way.”

"I thought you were Minseok," Luhan tells him unhappily. "I haven’t seen him all night."

"He was talking to Baron Heechul when I left the hall," Jongin supplies unkindly. He still hasn’t forgiven Luhan for accusing Jongin of having designs on Minseok’s virtue, just because he had helped the other prince after he had tumbled off his horse.

It had taken the efforts of Yixing and Jongdae to calm Luhan down before he did something as ridiculous, like declare war on Jongin’s kingdom (not that he would have been successful, of course, considering that he had about as much influence with his father’s army as the rest of the princes did in their kingdoms - which was basically none).

Right now, however, Luhan’s face looks thunderous. “What.”

"Will you relax," Jongin tells him sharply. He needs a drink. Or maybe two. Xin’s First Prince could be very trying on his already worn-out nerves. "Minseok will be fine."

"But— Heechul—"

"Is married to his wife and has six concubines along with four handsome boys to keep him sated. Minseok would be a poor addition to his collection," he adds, drowning out Luhan’s words.

Jongdae flops down onto the couch next to Luhan, barely containing his laughter with the back of his hand. "Have you seen his second concubine? She could pass off as Minseok.” He slings one arm around Luhan’s shoulders, an evil glint in his eye. "I’d keep a watchful eye on him if I were you."

Luhan’s expression changes instantly and he lunges for the door.

Jongin sighs.

They end up sitting on top of Luhan to stop him from bursting out of the library and going after the Baron.

"Let—me—did you forget who beat you at wrestling, Jongin — let me go after him—” Luhan tries to wriggle his way from underneath them, but Yixing rolls flat onto his back, while Jongin sits on his legs, using his weight to impede his movements. “Ooof--”

"Not a chance," Jongin tells him shortly. "And for the record, you did not beat me, you had Sehun throw pebbles at my head to distract me, you cheat.”

One of the things that Jongin has come to realize in the years that he’s known Luhan is that he has a tendency to shriek like a fisherman’s wife when he loses his composure. This is one of those times.

“We’re princes! Of the Eastern realms! Princes don’t sit on their princely friends and stop him from saving his betrothed from the clutches of evil!” 

"I didn’t realize I needed saving," Minseok’s voice, soft and curious, manages to cut through the screeching. Everyone looks up, to find the other prince leaning against the doorway, eyebrows raised at the scene in front of him. “Nor that we were engaged.”

Luhan stops struggling. There’s a long silence, before he gives a sheepish look.

“Er, well, about that.“

*

There’s a lot of sobbing (mostly from Luhan) and crying (also Luhan) as the prince falls down on one knee, clutching Minseok’s hand as he fumbles through his words - but by the time he delivers his flowery speech, he’s managed to promise half his kingdom and entire century’s supply of coffee beans in exchange for Minseok to marry him.

Minseok says yes, of course. Not that there had been any doubt in Jongin’s mind that he would; Minseok had, at a very early age of twelve when Luhan had been first introduced to their court, turned to Jongin and whispered in a trembling, awed voice that he had never seen someone so beautiful in his life and how was he even real and maybe quite possibly that whole myth about soul mates was not that much of a myth after all.

At eight, however, Jongin had been too busy plotting ways to hide frogs within the bedding of the servants’ quarters with the help of his best friend, Sehun, so he could be forgiven for not realizing what Minseok had meant until he saw the two of them walking side-by-side, five years later, looking at each other as if nothing and no one else existed around them.

The first seed of yearning had planted itself into Jongin’s mind, then, and he had wondered from then on if he would ever find someone who could look at him the same way.

A grand wedding is unavoidable. Luhan’s kingdom is by no means a small one, and the trading concessionaire between his father and the surrounding kingdoms meant that the invitations had to be personally handwritten, sealed with gold leaf, and hand-delivered to the other royals.

Luhan had invited the other princes into joining his entourage on his official visit to the Southern Realm to deliver the invitations, chattering excitedly about the childhood friends he had made when he once lived there. “Kyungsoo’s always been a good friend, but sometimes he gets a little caught up with his books and forgets to visit us,” he explains, as they make their way through the air base.

Jongin doesn’t recall having met the second nephew of the Southern King before, but he does remember meeting the heir himself to the throne some years back at some grand function, an earnest looking man with a too-wide smile and blond hair who had tried eagerly to impress Jongin with his knowledge of the eastern realm. Prince Joonmyun had been too eager, too friendly, and perhaps a tad too touchy-feely and Jongin had excused himself by claiming a splitting headache, leaving before the rest of the royals had arrived.

The crowd gathered in the departure hall wave eagerly from behind the row of grim-faced guards. Luhan pauses to wave at them, showing his perfect poise and princely smile to his people, before turning back to Jongin.  “By the way, Kyungsoo’s a bit of a recluse so our plan is to kidnap him, get him drunk and maybe finally have him to lose his ity like the real man that he is,” he finishes, before stepping through the gate, leaving Jongin standing there with his mouth agape.

“,” he swears, hurrying after Luhan.

He manages to talk Luhan out of his hare-brained scheme during the two hour journey to the southern realms by reminding him that he’s there to present the invitation to the southern kings, and introduce Minseok as his future consort.

*

By the end of the day, however, Jongin is beginning to regret his decision to accompany the Eastern prince. If the grand balls at Jongdae’s palace had been tiresome, the one being held in their honour tonight is far worse. It’s ostentatious and filled to the brim, not only with curious royals from within the kingdom but members of the media as well. 

Never had Jongin been glad for the strict rule his father had set for their gatherings to remain private, preferring to send out a press release or to have only trusted members of the local media attend the larger functions. Here, at every instance, there’s someone practically in his space taking countless photos of him. If Jongin laughs, five cameras hover nearby with their shutters clicking furiously.  When he lifts his drink, six different flashes go off at the same time.

He manages to excuse himself from a conversation with the Baron of some part of the kingdom, and corners Jongdae near the balcony doors, thankful to be in the presence of someone familiar. Jongdae, he notices, looks unaffected by all camera flashes going off around him, dressed as he is in his white, steam-pressed suit, the laced sleeve cuffs adding a certain flair to his look. It’s close to what Jongin is wearing, with the exception of the pale gemstones adorning his jacket.

“Not used to a roomful of royals, your Highness?” Jongdae teases.

“I don’t remember it being this suffocating,” he admits. “How much longer do we need to stay for this?” He peers over Jongdae’s shoulder, trying to catch sight of Luhan and Minseok. He sees the high-strung prince surrounded by several members of the court, their peacock-feathered headdresses bobbing eagerly as they nod to whatever he’s saying at the moment.

“You may want to reconsider your escape plans,” Jongdae replies drily. “Luhan mentioned something about having us the ladies at court during the first dance, as part of the King’s request.”

Jongin scowls. “I’m going to throw that flighty idiot into the river.” Jongdae lets out a bark of laughter, and hurriedly covers it up with a cough as another four cameras swing towards their direction. “I think I need to get out of here. Maybe get some fresh air. Care to join me?”

“What, and miss out on the finest drinks the Southern kingdom has to offer?” Jongdae lifts a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. He winks at Jongin over the rim before taking a sip. “Go on. I’ll cover for you if anyone asks.”

Nodding, Jongin waits for his chance, and slips through the doors onto the balcony when he thinks no one is paying any attention to him. With a sigh of relief, he closes the doors shut behind him.

He’s barely there for more than a few minutes when he hears mentions of his name. Groaning inwardly, he curses the fact that he has no way of hiding from whoever’s searching for him, since the balcony is an enclosed one.

On an impulse, he leans over the edge. Instead of a long drop to the ground below, he notices that there’s another balcony below. It’s directly beneath the one he’s standing on, with enough space jutting out for someone to climb down onto, and he briefly entertains a wild thought.

Without hesitation, he pulls himself up onto the ledge, and swings his legs over, dropping onto the balcony below. He lands on his feet on top of the tiles, wincing at the sharp pain that shoots up his legs from the impact - just as the doors above open up and the sounds from the ball trail out into the night air.

“—here a second ago, I could have sworn,” says the insistent voice.

“There’s no one here. Sure you weren’t dipping into the champagne a little too much tonight, Sung?”

“Shut up, it’s not like we we get these kind of gigs all the time,” comes the snappish reply. “I’m telling you, I saw the prince head out here just a minute ago.” The sound of footsteps grow louder, as if someone is walking across the floor.

Jongin holds his breath.

“Maybe I was mistaken,” the man called Sung admits sourly.

“That didn’t hurt to admit, did it?” snorts his companion. “Come on, we still have more pictures to take.” Their footsteps begin to fade as they step back into the hall and the sounds from inside cut off as they close the doors behind them.

Feeling relieved, Jongin breathes out. It might have been a little overdramatic, what he had just done, now that he thinks about it. He’s still a little giddy – and he’s going to have to deal with the slight ache in his legs from his landing – but otherwise, he’s glad for the respite from all the attention. He knows that it won’t be long till he has to get back to the hall, so he decides to start finding his way back up there.

The doors leading to the balcony are shut, but when he tests the handle, he finds that it’s unlocked. When he steps inside the room, it takes him a moment to realize that he’s in a library of sorts. A young man is sitting in the middle of the room, leaning over a large book, glasses perched upon his nose. When Jongin enters, he looks up, startled.

“Who are you?” he demands, gripping the book in his hands tightly. “How did you get in here? I didn’t hear the door open.”

“Through the balcony. I was… I was trying to get some fresh air, and wandered out and ended up here.” He slows his steps, trying not to scare off the other man, who seems skittish at the sight of Jongin. “I’m a guest at the royal ball.”

The young man peers at him intently, before finally relaxing. “I should have guessed,” he says, and there’s a dry tone to it. Jongin frowns at the changed demeanour. “It’s all the palace ever talks about all week.” Sniffing, he turns back to his book, and pointedly ignores Jongin.

Blinking, Jongin pauses mid-step. He’s never had someone flat out ignore him before. This was new.

“Why aren’t you at the ball?” Jongin asks, curious.

“I don’t like parties,” the young man responds, without looking up. His lips, Jongin decides, are distracting. “Not that it matters. I never stay long enough for anyone to care if I’m there.” He doesn’t look away from the book he’s holding, but for a moment, Jongin detects the way his fingers clench around the cover, and the dejected slump in his shoulders.

Jongin should leave this man to his brooding and head back to the hall. He doesn’t know who he is, nor should it matter to him. He looks too dowdy, dressed dully, and Jongin surmises that he must be one of the servants in the employment of the king.

Somehow, he finds himself pulling out a chair, and seating himself comfortably into it. “I don’t like parties either,” Jongin admits, when he catches the other man staring at him with a skeptical look.

“That’s a surprise,” the other man tells him drily. “You are, after all, the talk of the realm-” here, he pauses to adjust his glasses, which have slipped down his nose slightly, before adding- “Your Highness.” There’s none of the awe and adoration or respect that Jongin is used to hearing from his subjects, or any of the other courtiers he meets for the first time, nor of fear or distrust.

In a strange way, Jongin finds it… refreshing.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you know,” Jongin sighs. The weight of his title feels heavy, as always. 

“The press weren’t exactly quiet about it.” There’s a bit of mirth in that voice.

Thinking of the media frenzy he had experienced back in the hall, Jongin winces. “That’s understating it.”

“People like that sort of thing a lot. Royals, I mean.” The man turns another page. The tone in his voice is slightly self-depreciating. It dawns on Jongin that he isn’t, perhaps, an ordinary courtier.

Tilting his head slightly, Jongin ends up studying the other man’s face. “And you don’t?”

The man sets his book aside, along with his glasses, and looks at Jongin, sighing heavily. “I suppose you’re going to keep questioning me until I answer then.” His eyes are large, round, and Jongin finds himself staring at them a little longer than expected.

“I’m not as disillusioned as most people are about titles. Being born a noble doesn’t give you a heart, or a good character.”

Jongin blinks. He’s heard of a similar turn of phrase from his father before, but coming from someone else is a little different. He leans back in his seat, reassessing the man before him differently now. He has nice lips, Jongin thinks, the kinds that’s full and plush. Jongin ends up gazing at them a little longer than he should, trying to come up with a response to the man’s statement.

“My father once told me,” he begins, softly, “that being a royal was a gift given by the people. That it meant that the king had the duty to care for his subjects, because without them, he would have no kingdom to rule.” He thinks of duty, of the throne waiting for him one day, and the fear that he could never fit into that seat. “A good king will earn the love and respect of a good kingdom, and a cruel king will earn the fear and hatred of a ruined kingdom.”

He stays silent. Fearful that he might have offended the man, Jongin opens his mouth, ready with an apology – but he’s interrupted.

“You are—you are right.” The way the young man’s cheeks turn red, even under the dim lights of the library, is endearing. “I hadn’t seen it in that way before. My cousin has always insisted that the crown is a gift, not a burden, and I’ve always mocked him for that.”

“Perhaps the problem lies in your cousin, and not in you--” Jongin pauses, and realizes that in entire duration of their conversation, he hasn’t even discovered the man’s name yet. He laughs. “Your name,” he adds, at the mystified look on his companion’s face. “You have yet to introduce yourself, and I was remiss in asking earlier.” Jongin gives him an apologetic smile.

“You don’t know—“ the man falters, in his words, before he clamps his mouth shut. Jongin’s eyebrows rise at this. 

A moment later, the man looks up at Jongin. “I’d—I’d rather not,” he begins, hesitantly.

Jongin raises his eyebrows. “Why not?”

“B-because—you’re the prince, and I’m no one,” comes the feeble reply.

“What if-” Jongin begins, and he gets up from his chair, moving a step closer. He watches as the man’s eyes grow a little wider at the movement. “What if I offered you a trade?”

“Trade?” There’s a glimmer of curiosity in the man’s eyes. “What sort of trade?”

Jongin takes another step closer, until he’s standing right next to the young man, looking down at him while he’s still seated in his chair. He’s feeling, perhaps, a little more daring than he would normally be.

“A kiss.”

The young man’s eyes widen. “A—a kiss?”

“You’re very beautiful,” Jongin tells him honestly, and he almost chuckles at the way the other man swallows and shakes his head, as if trying to say no, he’s not. “You are,” Jongin insists.

“Do you make it a habit of telling strangers that?”

“Only the ones who deserve to be told as such.” The way the man rolls his eyes makes Jongin grin, and perhaps a little more daring that he would normally be. “A kiss,” Jongin repeats, “for your name. But even if you would not give it to me, I would still ask for a kiss.” He feels his cheeks grow warm at this unexpected admission.

For a brief moment, Jongin thinks that, perhaps he’ll say no, but to his surprise, the man nods, slowly. 

“It’s… it’s Kyungsoo,” he replies softly. It sounds familiar, somehow, but Jongin shelves the thought away for another time.
 
“Kyungsoo,” Jongin repeats, testing out the name on his tongue.

Kyungsoo’s cheeks are red, as if he’s blushing.

Jongin leans down and presses their lips together.

It’s meant to be a soft peck at first, and nothing more – yet Jongin is taken by surprise at the way they feel against his own; soft, plush and hesitant. He traces the edge of the man’s jaw with his fingers, slowly kissing his lips, and, as a test, the lower lip into his mouth.

Jongin is instantly rewarded with a soft whimper as fingers reach up, to clutch at his shoulders. He pulls away, only to find those lips chasing his, capturing his own in a longer, more desperate kiss.

It’s the uncertainty, the inexperience that makes Jongin slide his fingers through the other man’s hair, tilting his head slightly to slip his tongue in. It’s unexpectedly hot, the way he hears the soft whimpers being emitted, and he’s beginning to wonder if perhaps they’re moving too fast, if this is a good idea, making out with someone in the quiet library with the party going on in full swing upstairs; but he’s too drunk on the kiss and the feel of the warm lips against his own that he throws his doubts out the window.

Finally, they break apart, to catch their breath.

“That was,” he starts to say, and coughs, trying to clear his throat. “I mean, a good. Trade. Yes.” He’s pretty sure he’s never felt this blank in his head before.

He glances down, and finds himself still staring at Kyungsoo’s lips, which are swollen and well-kissed and definitely in need of more exploration. “Kyungsoo,” he says, seeing the way Kyungsoo shivers at the mention of his name, and holds back a smile, “can I kiss you agai—“

The obnoxious sound of his mobile phone ringing cuts through his words, and for a brief moment Jongin suppresses the urge to fling it out the window. He hears the soft sigh of regret from Kyungsoo.

Annoyed, Jongin tugs the phone out of his suit pocket. “Jongdae, tell me you have good reason for--”

“Where have you been??” comes Jongdae’s agitated voice through the earpiece. “The first dance is about the begin, the King’s been asking me where you were and Luhan’s close to starting another war with a member of the Sujun court and you’re not here where are you--”

Jongin sneaks a glance at Kyungsoo, who’s still looking dazed and dreamy-eyed in his seat, with his hair mussed up slightly and his glasses askew – and nearly considers skipping the ball.

But Jongdae is still being frantic on the phone, and Jongin has a duty to perform. With a suppressed sigh of regret, he tells Jongdae that he’ll join him in the hall immediately, and hangs up.

“I have to go,” Jongin tells Kyungsoo. “But—” he hesitates, wondering if he can sneak away and return to this room again later. He tells himself that it’s because he enjoys Kyungsoo’s refreshing conversation, and not because of… other reasons. “May I seek your company again, once the ball is over?”

Kyungsoo bites his lower lip, looking apprehensive. Eventually, he nods. “I spend my days here, in this library,” he says, looking around wistfully at the books surrounding him on the shelves. And, he adds, with a shy look, “and nights as well.”

With a grin, Jongin bows. “I will seek you out then, Kyungsoo.” His mobile phone rings again, reminding him that Jongdae’s probably hunting him down now and he hurries out of the room, forgetting to ask Kyungsoo about why he spends his time in the royal library. Is he the librarian? Or one of the servants? Questions he hadn’t thought of when he had sat down crop up now, and he reminds himself to bring them up to Kyungsoo again, later.

*

Later, it turns out that Jongin doesn’t have to, not when the answer is standing right in front of him, dressed in a fine velvet coat with lace ts worth more than the entire year’s salary of ten servants, as Kyungsoo is presented to him by the Southern King as his majesty’s nephew.

notes:
♣ i started this months ago when i was high on coffee
♣ i'll update with chapter 2 after the new year