sangwoon knew, the moment his brother swung around with fire in his eyes, that he’d finally made a dent in woon’s strikingly thick armor. if he was wary of the way woon closed in one him and took the fabric of his hanbok in his hand, it did not show through his own determination to look entirely unfazed by such intimidating tactics.
the crown prince could easily snatch an arrow from his quiver and drive it through sangwoon’s jugular, citing a horrible hunting accident, which nearly every soul in the palace would believe through a few crocodile tears. perhaps, years later, sangwoon would look back on this moment and be grateful that he’d come out of it intact. for now, such a possibility didn’t occur to him, in spite of the small voice in the back of his mind that had reminded him how easy it would have been moments ago to aim his own arrow at his brother’s back.
that is how cowards destroy their enemies, came the wise words of his military heroes in his mind’s eye; real men look their enemies in the eye before they kill them.
woon’s words stung. they always did. years of merciless degradation did nothing to numb the bite of his own flesh and blood stamping ‘useless’ across his forehead with venomous spit with every word he breathed. but sangwoon tilted his chin up proudly anyway, fantasizing about a world where everyone knew how much of a false, scaly, fanged beast their future king was.
the snake, he realized, was not slithering along the forest floor, but had made its home under the future crown of joseon, and had his fingers dangerously close to sangwoon’s throat as he spoke.
“you’re not king yet,” he returned, unable to fully erase the natural petulance that hung from the syllables of his retort, “i’m allowed to hunt in these woods just as much as you. you can’t stop me. i’m not scared of you.”
sangwoon, it seemed, was as dim as he was weak. instead of heeding his older brother’s words, he even sought to spite him! woon could have easily curled his fingers around that neck, and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed until such a gaze was as dull as the colour of earth, and there was no doubt that he’d enjoy it, and even more, get away with it. his anger had not resurfaced in a while, and if sangwoon had to look proud of accomplishing anything, it was being able to make a dragon rear its head towards a puny little soldier with nothing but his mother’s protection to hide behind.
“you are nothing,” he bit back, snapped, elbows reeling back to drag sangwoon ever closer, before just as quickly pushing him back with more than enough force.
“i may not be king yet, but at least i’m going to be something.” he stepped forward, closed the space between them with a stride, fists at his sides as if ready to strike again. but touching filth once was enough for one day, and woon was angry enough that he was related to a person that was nothing more than a trinket for their mother: a spare, perhaps, to keep locked away in a box, where he should properly be.
“you are nothing,” he repeated, making sure to keep his stance ready, stable, balanced, just as he was taught to do. “you hide and cower behind your status as a petty little prince, and cry at your mother’s skirts when you are threatened. it is only out of respect for her that i don’t strike you.” he wanted, then, with cruel brutality, to stab the younger boy, over and over and over; it was because of him that their mother didn’t look at him with such soft fondness, and only dark ambitions, heated and cruel and ruthless.
“but you should be scared of me, sangwoon,” his hand reached for an arrow; poised it at his bow, and pulled back, tip pointed over his own brother’s heart, “because i am not afraid to kill you.” he allowed it to remain there for a moment longer, a beat, or two, and lowered his bow quickly, shooting at the free space between his brother’s feet.
