1492 B.C. Masterlist
Contains links to all content made before 2023. 2/10 would not recommend.
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Disclaimer #5562: This blog has been open since the great year to be alive of 1492.
Times change and public opinions shift. Some of the featured artist may have become controversial figures since I originally wrote content for them. I acknowledge this, but I will not remove content that I put valuable time and creativity into making.
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I feel like I owe y'all an explanation. I know I haven't posted in a while, but there is a reason. I have very quickly become burnt out and disenchanted with Kpop – again. I'm no stranger to taking breaks for this exact reason, but this time has been very different for me.
Call it dramatic or whatever, but I actually dread coming back to Kpop in any capacity. It's not even a new issue, but the toxicity and bullying just seems to have grown and grown and grown to the point where you can't avoid it anymore. And keep in mind, I do limit where and when I interact. I'm very liberal with the block button across all socials but it's always there. Always.
A hobby or interest is no longer worth it when it stops being fun and becomes mentally draining.
That is where my headspace currently is.
I'll be completely honest; I currently have no intention of returning to the fandom or continuing to write. All content will stay where it is for archival purposes, and because I would be really sad to delete anything tbh.
I do want to thank everyone who has supported this blog over the years. You have been fantastic and you are not the problem. It's a fandom wide problem that has literally been built into the very foundations of the industry.
Thank you guys again, and maybe we will see each other again some day. 💜
| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 |
Pairings: Vampire!Lee Know/OC, Vampire!Bangchan/OC (suprise!!!!)
Summary: Vampyres dominate the entertainment world with their otherworldly beauty and talent. It’s a world you must be born into, but a few lucky ones are Marked. Stripped from her home and everything she knows, Minji’s Marking means that she has to rely on the Devil himself, Lee Minho, to be her mentor. He’s cute and sweet to the public, but behind closed doors the monster comes out to play.
Content: Angst, Slow burn, lotsa plot, eventual smut, vampires, dark themes, original characters, first person perspective, general 18+ content, alternate idol universe, asshole Lee Know, surprise love triangle, discussion of blood, discussions of death, depictions of violence, sexual tension, petnames/kitten,
WC: 4201
Minors do not interact. Do not repost my content to other websites, this includes translations.
Notes: Poetaytoes? What's a poetaytoe?
Tag List: @linocz
A clock was ticking overhead. The sound was grating – a consistent clicking that vibrated through my head and had my hands clutching the counter until my knuckles turned white. I watched it as the seconds went by, every miniscule movement making me want to rip my own eardrums out so I could no longer hear it. If Vampryic hearing was going to be like this all the time, I was going to go insane. I had thought my breaking point would come at the hands of bloodlust, emotional outbursts, or Minho. I had never suspected my last shreds of sanity would have been stripped away by something so mundane as a clock.
Trying to ignore it, I let my hand go from the counter to grip the Styrofoam cup before me. Dark black coffee sloshed onto my hands in my haste. For just a brief second, it looked like the deep red, brown of blood. Tantalizing. Rich. Mesmerizing.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
My grip on the cup tightened. Holes appeared where my nails sank through the flimsy material. Coffee leaked down my arm and onto my unused work out clothes.
Tick.
The cup was on the floor; I was out of my seat.
The break room was empty save for myself and my whims. There was no one to stop me as I climbed up onto the counter next to the coffee pot with surprising ease. I pulled the clock from the wall with enough force to have the hook that held it flying across the room. The clock followed soon after, shattering against the opposite wall in glass and plastic.
The ticking stopped. My efforts were met with blissful silence as the shattered pieces settled into place. A wave of sudden calm, until just a few seconds passed and I could hear the sound of footsteps approaching.
I felt goosebumps prickle my skin, my hair standing up straight. Adrenaline – primal and fierce – coursed through me. I waited as the sounds grew closer. The steps were sure, but hurried. My intruder was on a mission, and I was losing my goddamn mind.
I was at the JYP building, in the breakroom no less. It was not an intruder. It was just someone going about their business. The only threat to me at the moment was myself and my own destructive instincts.
At the notion, I sighed deeply. It was an attempt to steady myself. I looked at the shattered clock across the room in horror, only barely registering that someone was entering the break room. The door clicked closed and I had to mentally restrain myself from lunging at the person. The mental gymnastics I was putting myself through had my breathing ragged.
“The Kitten climbs.”
“Not now, Fuck Face,” I huffed back through ragged breaths.
Lee Minho watched me with his normal sardonic amusement. He leaned against the door as if he were patiently waiting for a child to stop their temper tantrum. His dark eyes slid from me to the broken clock and back again. The questions flickered over his features, his brows lowering in consternation.
“Get down,” he commanded instead of voicing them.
“No.” My denial was weak, made more out of reflex than any true rebellion. I was tired. Tired of not knowing things. Tired of not being able to control myself. Just tired.
“I could command you.” There was a challenge in words. It sparked, tempting me to take it, but I couldn't. I wouldn't. He would win and I would just get burned.
Deciding to behave, I dropped from the counter with a thump to the linoleum flooring. My temples cried in agony at the movement and the sound. I rubbed at them angrily when I was firmly on the floor. “How do you get used to the noise?”
“The same way humans do. It eventually becomes white noise, a hum in the background you can drown out at will,” he answered easily as he looked at the broken clock again. I was shocked he answered at all. He was always so vague, so annoying. Every meeting with him left me reeling with questions without answers. I had no hope he would stay this open.
“Ya know, I could never sleep without a fan on,” I informed him. “I liked the air, but the noise too. It helped me sleep. Now I think I would probably tear the whole electrical outlet out of the wall to make it stop.”
“And what did the clock do to you?”
“It made noise.”
“And the coffee cup?” He asked with a raised brow at the mess in question. It was all over my clothes, but also the counter and floor where I had originally sat.
“A casualty of the clock.”
“Ah,” he hummed in acknowledgement. “The Kitten is feral, apparently.”
“I feel like it.” I agreed. My emotions were unruly – fueled by instinct and uncertainty. The Change was in control; I was not. It was as close to a feral state as I had ever been.
Minho said nothing in reply. His wide and (unfortunately) beautiful eyes watched me as if in contemplation. I was suddenly very aware of my ill fitting gym clothes and the coffee that stained them. I really wished I had taken up Maeri on one of her billion offers to take me shopping for fitness wear or to borrow hers. The baggy sweats and oversized shirt were doing me no favors.
“Come on,” he said suddenly into the silence. I almost jolted at the intrusion, his soft voice shaking me out of my appearance induced misery. He turned on his heels to open the door and held it. He was waiting for me. My feet moved even as my brain spun.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere we can talk,” he answered as we stepped out into the hall.
“Why can't we talk here?”
“The acoustics are suspect.”
“What does that even mean?” I asked in exasperation as we walked.
“You're going to make a really shitty Vampyre if you don't learn how to use your senses. Listen, and don't break anything else.”
And so I listened.
The dull hum of distant conversation tickled my temples, causing them to pound in further irritation. The splash of water somewhere. Harsh, angry strokes of a keyboard. An electronic grinding that I couldn't place. It all blended together into a larger headache that I was no more enlightened for.
“Are you trying to kill me?” I asked in irritation as I attempted to drown it all out.
“No,” he answered with a small tilt at the corners of his lips. “I'm trying to teach you. If you can hear it: any other Vampyre can too.”
“So we have no privacy?”
“Notice how you don't hear any music in a company that, well, makes music?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice like syrup melting from a snow cone under a hot sun. He really was intolerable. Before I could snap a witty reply, he continued. “Sound proofing, even for our sensitive ears, is possible.”
We came to a stop outside our normal meeting room. The silver “CR #0” that hung over the door glittered eerily in the fluorescent lighting. I supposed it was fitting. All of my questions started in this damn room. Maybe they would be answered within as well.
As we entered, my overstimulated brain breathed a sigh of relief. There was silence – total and complete. The dinosaur grandfather clock didn't even make a noise as I took my usual seat with a contentment I hadn't felt since I realized I had the hearing of a badly written superhero.
“Better?” Minho asked as he took his own accustomed seat. I was half tempted to punch him for breaking my newfound serenity, but I just nodded instead. “The recording studios, practice rooms, and here are all safe if it gets overwhelming. Your room at the dorms is too.”
“Good to know, now tell how I'm tied to you,” I demanded without further preamble. I was desperate for answers and tired of being left in the dark. Determination and stubbornness filled me. I would not leave this room without answers, even if I had to fight for them.
“I don't think I like your tone, Kitten,” Minho murmured with narrowed eyes.
“You don't have to like it.”
“Oh?” He hummed, eyes narrowing further and lips tilting in a way that made me equal parts angry and excited. “But you want me to, don't you?”
A tingling. Minor and barely noticeable. It spread like little zaps of electricity on my skin. I shivered, goosebumps dotting my flesh. His eyes held mine, dark and inviting. I did; I wanted him to like me. I wanted him to want me. I wanted –
“What the–” my exclamation was cut short as the electrical current surging under my flesh vanished as fast as it had come. “What did you just do?”
“Me?” He smiled in a way that was so sweet it would give you cavities and make you vomit. “I didn't do anything.”
“Liar. Was that your Aura?”
“Has Felix been telling you things he shouldn't?”
“So you seduce people?” I asked in horror and mild relief. All the things I’ve been feeling and thinking about the asshole across from me were just an odd byproduct of Vampyre physiology and not a touch of sadism. I was glad to know.
“You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?” He asked, a smile still in place with eyes wide and almost innocent. It was deceiving. He was deceiving: a monster hiding behind a cloying mask. “Auras aren't why we're here.”
“Then why are we here, Lothario?”
“The Bond.” The mask changed, his bored and permanently sarcastic expression slipping back into place. “It's not something that will be covered in your book, and it's not something I should be telling you about at all.”
“Then why tell me? Did Chan make you?”
“Chan encourages. He never forces anything, and he's right. Your Change is happening fast. You need to know.” Resolute, but not passionate. He was going to tell me, but he didn't seem to particularly want to. It was so very much like what I had come to expect from him that I could hardly muster my usual anger and irritation.
“Then tell me,” I nodded. My own resolve was more steadfast. I was trying to not get my hopes up, but determination was a hell of a beast. Unfortunately, Minho's stubbornness could be an even more fearsome creature.
“I will, but first I need to explain something relevant. I know you think I'm an ass, and maybe I am,” he said – earning a snort from me that echoed against the towering shelves of books. I opened my mouth to tell him how true that statement was when he stopped me with a glare. “I'm being serious. I need you to know that for the next ten minutes at least; I will tell you what I think you need to know and I need you to respect that.”
“Will you answer my questions?” I asked.
“I'll try– you certainly are a nosey little shit though,” he answered with a petty little grin thrown at me for good measure. It was my turn to glare before he added,”I’ll answer what I can, and I'll do my best to be honest where I can as well.”
“Fine,” I huffed. I suddenly felt like a kid arguing with their parents to get an extra dessert. I couldn't stop the pout that formed on my face at the thought. I didn't think he was an ass; I knew he was one.
“Cute,” Minho said with a small chuckle. A chaotic bubble of violence flashed through me like a bolt of lightning, but I fought it.
“Go on, Mentor. Mentor me,” I quipped with a sarcastic smile and an even more sarcastic wave of my hand to hurry him along with it. He rolled his eyes, and I could feel the tension of further argument welling in the room. He was fighting his own instincts. It was a weird notion; a weird thing to think and feel, but I could. I filled that knowledge away for later.
“The Bond is what the relationship between a Mentor and Mark is known as in Vampyre circles. It's…” His voice was softer as he explained and trailed off. I could see the cogs turning in his eyes; information reeling as he plucked pieces out for me and concealed others never to see the light of the moon. “It's deeper than human relationships because it doesn't work the same way. It's intense, and it's forced.”
“Forced?” I audibly gulped. The implications of a single word reeling me backward until the blood circulation in my back was threatened by how tightly I pressed into my seat.
“Yes.” He reached across the desk lifting in his own seat to be able to trace a single, surprisingly warm finger across the skin of my forehead. “Are these Marks a designation of biology or a brand for the world to see?”
Another gulp. My skin tingled in the wake of his touch. Was it the Bond? Or was it the way his wide eyes stared at me like I was puzzle he wanted to solve? Like a prey he wanted to catch? I didn't know, and that was the most frightful bit of it all.
“Aren't you supposed to be telling me that?” I managed. He sucked his pouty bottom lip between his teeth as his head cocked to the side. It was the image of perfection. A man made for cameras. A man made for the canvases of artistic minds. I forgot – only for a second – why we were in that room until he pulled back and resumed his seat with a soft thump.
“That's the thing, Kitten. I don't know. For every question you have, I have ten more.”
“But you were born a Vampyre. You must know–”
“I was born to an ordinary family not much different than yours. They aren't government workers. They aren't particularly wealthy. I'm only here because I liked to dance and I happened to be good at it. The Association only cares about me so much as they can use me.”
“Use you for what?”
“That's something I can answer: publicity. Vampyres were once the stuff of scary stories for your people. Putting us on TV and making us appear like harmless entertainers to the drooling masses ‘humanizes’ us,” he scoffed as he made air quotes around the word. “It also gives them cultural clout and sway, which can be just as powerful as big guns in the world of politics.”
“They want us to sing and look pretty?” I asked. My mouth was suddenly dry – the words sticking and stilted – but Minho understood.
“So we do,” he nodded. “And those who play their parts the best, are rewarded. Money. Luxury. Fame. Mentorship.”
“One of those things is not like the other.”
“That's right. Mentorship is a burden, is it not? That's how humans understand the word. It's an obligation. I teach you. I'm responsible for you, but maybe since I'm such a shining star I get something out of it too, and that's the Bond.” His words started soft, but hurried. They grew into a crescendo. His frustrations and anger simmered the air around him as his fists clenched on the hardwood desk. His knuckles were white, and once again I could feel it. I felt his rage. I felt his desperation. I felt his helplessness. I felt them all so strongly that I was momentarily left gasping for air, suffocating in wild emotions that were not mine for once.
“But what do you get out of this.. Bond?” I gaped in confusion. My chest rose and fell like I had run miles without a moment to breathe.
“Well, isn't it obvious, Kitten? I get you.”
His words were so loud it felt like he was shouting at me. They vibrated against the shelves, echoing in my mind like a broken record ready to be trashed. I wanted them gone; I wanted them silenced.
“I'm not an actual cat, Minho. You can't just assume ownership over me regardless of what the Association says. I'm sure the South Korean government would have something to say about that. Hell, the United Nations would probably like a word too,” I tried to reason. Nothing made sense and everything felt wrong. I was upside down. I was seated but spinning on an invisible axis without a speed limit.
“Human governments can't control the Association. They've made sure of that. What's seen as questionable is explained away by biological differences. Besides, you're not human. Why would they care about you when you fall under the jurisdiction of the Association now?”
“But I'm still a person–”
“You're a Mark. Humans think you're a genetic mutant. Vampyres see you as a freak destined to be a plaything for our elite. You won't debut. You're here because I am – because it's the easiest way to make you malleable. It's the easiest way to make sure that when the time comes, you're given the illusion of choice.”
“And what are my imaginary choices, Minho?”
“You can reject the Bond. It's not something you want to happen if you value living as much as you seem to,” Minho said in answer. It was then I noticed how tired he looked. His anger had seemingly faded and he slumped into his chair with all the weariness of an old man. The urge to comfort him had my fingers twitching against my thighs. Was that my own notion? Or was it the Bond? I too was weary; I knew I would be asking myself that question a lot in the future.
“H–How does one reject the Bond?”
“Once your last Marks fill in, we have to exchange blood.” Darkness coated the weariness in his eyes. The words cloying, appealing even. I shivered. “If you refuse, the Bond will cease to exist and so will you.”
“And why would Chan and Felix be worried that I would die? If that's all that I have to do?”
“You want to taste me, Kitten?” The darkness deepend, weariness moving aside for a small glimmer of amusement in the depths.
“Now is not the time to tease me,” I reprimanded. He didn't seem cowed, not even a hint. Instead he leaned forward to place his elbows on the table and rest his chin on both palms like we were casually gossiping. He was back to his normally unpalatable self.
“I've heard a whole host of reasons. Some Marks are never told the significance, and even the ones who are are told at the last minute. It's also the first time most of them will taste blood. Human sensibilities die hard, apparently. Your kin are not very adaptable.”
“At least we don't take magical sex slaves,” I grunted with mild humor. If I couldn't laugh, I would cry. And I would not cry in front of this man. I would not.
“Now,” Minho clicked his tongue in mock disapproval. “I never said anything about sex. That pretty little head of yours is awfully presumptuous.”
“It was implied, was it not?” I asked, mortification seeping into my bones as my face heated to levels hot enough to burn. Pretty?
“For most, yes. But I'm not so far gone into my fame or wealth that I think you owe me anything because of a Mark on your forehead.” Earnest. Truthful. I could feel it in my gut. I felt a fraction of the tension coiling in my shoulders ease, but it was not enough. A part of me – a part I hated and would firmly blame on weird Vampyre physiology – was preening. Pretty. He thinks you're pretty.
“I appreciate that.”
“Hmmm,” he hummed in acknowledgement. “Your appreciation is the highlight of my day.”
“Were you Mentored in sarcasm or does it just come naturally?”
“It's all natural,” he smiled, one of the rare genuine ones that had my inner fan floating on a cloud. “As is the Bloodlust. You feel it. I can sense it.”
“You can sense it?”
“It's the Bond. We are linked in a way that others are not,” he explained. “I can feel when you–”
“When I want to bash your head in?”
He laughed. The sound so beautiful it made my body tense – desperate for more. Longing to hear it again. “I feel it now. Don't lie to me, Kitten. I'll know. One might even say it's my ‘Aura.’”
“So not seduction, but Mind Reading? I thought that was only possible in movies.”
“No. Humans and Vampyres are alike in one thing; we all lie. Some more than others. You lie a lot, and I can sense it. I can't hear your thoughts like listening to a radio, but if I wanted to, I could… compel you to tell me the truth,” Minho explained. He seemed to struggle to find the right words to describe it, but his choice had my neck feeling hot.
Compulsion was a topic of many Vampyre centered movies before the Revelation, but the Association insisted mind control was the subject of fantasy and science fiction. No one – Vampyre nor human –had the capacity to influence the thoughts or actions of others. But that's what Minho was describing, and it was eerily similar to how he had ‘commanded’ me to leave during his testosterone showdown with Chan.
“Magical mind control doesn't seem like it lines up with the textbook,” I insisted, bristling at the idea.
“That's one of the biggest problems with the Association. They want everything to make sense. They want us to be wrapped up into a perfectly logical package that humans will accept as natural and superior, but nothing is ever that clear.”
“Can you cast spells?” I asked on a whim. It was meant to be condescending, but I actually was a little curious. If we were slipping into the realms of fantasy, a little spellcasting couldn't be so far fetched?
“No. I'm not a witch,” he shot back quickly and calmly.
“Wait– witches?”
“Come on, Minji. Don't be so close minded. I'm here telling you about mystical Bonds. You're in a room filled with curious objects, and Witches are what gets you?”
“You're fucking with me– like Harry Potter?” I was reeling again, but it was more of a gentle tumble. I had been told I was ‘Bonded’ to my favorite Kpop idol turned personal tormentor who had the ability of compulsion. Witches and other things that go bump in the night we're just like reading a cozy story by that point: interesting but impersonal.
“No. More practical and less fanatical,” he answered with narrowed eyes as if he had given it very serious thought. “Don't get disappointed. No one gets a Hogwarts letter.”
“Werewolves? Shifters? Demon? Angels?” I fired off in rapid succession.
“Full Moon werewolves who live in packs with anger issues? No. Shifters who can turn into wolves and other animals? Yes.” He blinked a few times, contemplating. He was always so careful about thinking before he spoke. It was infuriating most times, but also strangely endearing. “There was a renegade cult of witches a few years back who were sacrificing humans to try to summon some god or whatever but they had no such luck. If there is a realm of demons and angels, they do not want to interact with us. It was a hell of a clean up for the Association. Blamed it on some serial killer or some – you look very pale.”
“Lee Minho,” I called in a mumble. I suddenly felt a little nauseous. Bonds. Shifters. Witch cults murdering humans. Association cover ups with serial killers. The world was spinning again, only this time it was wildly out of control and I was helpless to stop it. “I think that’s enough for today.”
“Did curiosity kill the cat? I only answered what you asked, like you wanted and I promised.” His unapologetic tone didn’t even register.
“I need a very long nap.” I stood from my chair, my feet feeling heavy and unsteady as I straightened.
“I won’t stop you,” Minho stated. He made no move, he simply kept his seat and watched me intensely, curiously even. My steps were slow as I made for the door only for him to call out to me one last time. “Check the mirror before you go.”
And so I did.
As I passed the ancient looking mirror, I saw myself. I was ghostly pale, the dark purple on my forehead obnoxiously screaming for the world to see. The lines that had started a faint trail down my temples had darkened and spread. They swirled downward, crawling across my hairline and down my neck in ornamental flourishes that got fainter as they disappeared into the collar of my baggy shirt.
I couldn’t help it. My feet staggered to a stop to stare. I felt my nausea swell. My skin heated. Then I was barfing the entirety of my stomach onto the dusty hardwood floors.
| Part 1 | Part 2 |
Pairings: Prince!Lee Know/You, Prince!Bangchan/You, RivalNoble!Hyunjin/You? We are all about possibility here.
Summary: Entering into a harem choosing was something you have been groomed for since you were young. Your aim is to make Crown Prince Christopher fall at your heels in order to restore your ruined family name and fortune, but games of love are much harder than games of lies and deceit.
Content: Angst (is it me if it's not?), slow burn, smut(warnings below when applicable), fictional historical universe, dark themes, second person perspective, historical-typical gender roles, imperial harem-inspired concubine system, multi-pov, lotsa plot/world building, political intrigue
WC: 5246
Minors do not interact. Do not repost my content to other websites.
Taglist: @blondechannie @torialefay
Notes: Things got out of hand. Side note, our main character now has a last name to avoid the excessive use of 'Y/N.'
You
“I’ve heard the young Lord Hwang is here in the Capital for the festivities.”
“I do wonder what the the Lord is up to now. 'Twas a nasty business with his parents' death and all.”
A flutter of feminine words carried by the cool breeze of dusk. They were as hollow as the chirping of birds, but with the weight of lords clanging swords.
“I suppose that's why he's here,” the middle aged gentleman said conspiratorially to his companion. He was dressed in the fine, rich fabrics of the upper class, but his dress did not hide the lascivious glances he would steal at the young woman he spoke to.
It was another lesson you had learned: social standing was meaningless when it came to the lustful notions of men. It didn't matter King, priest or commoner; all men floundered their morals when presented with something pretty dressed in silks. This gentleman was no different.
“It's such a shame to have felt such tragedy so young,” the woman said softly. It was another flutter, a fine beating of appropriate sympathy and poise. Whatever lot she had hailed from, she had been trained well.
“Oh,” the gentleman intoned with a glance around him. He seemed to be looking for something, or someone. He scanned the ladies and lords who conversed and drank around him quickly before his eyes settled. He was looking directly at you.
You had been wandering through the throngs, seeing and being seen for most of the festivities. You had to ensure you played your part of a well-bred lady making connections. It also served to listen; gauging the mood of the nobles who inhabited the palace alongside the royal residents. You had expected attention, but none so blatant.
“But I do hear the daughter of the Wicked Witch of House Sterling is in attendance,” the man stated, loudly enough for his feminine companion, you, and everyone within the breadth of the long table he occupied to hear. Lords and ladies alike recoiled as if hit. Some laughed with unease, but most seemed unsettled by the reminder of years past.
“My Lord,” she exclaimed with exaggerated scandal covering her classically attractive features. She fanned herself as if the wave of her hand could rid her of the shock of his statement. “Is it true?”
“It is, my dear. They say The Witch and her daughter ensorcel men with the bat of their lashes, and use their livelihood to keep themselves young and beautiful. I fear for the young bucks of the court.”
The woman saw her cue, and like any well trained woman – she took it. She leaned in with the bat of her own lashes to whisper into the man's ear. At her attention, his own wandered from you back to her and her hands on his weak shoulders. She pulled back just far enough to wink directly at you. She was playing the game, and she was playing it well.
Grateful for her intervention, you gathered your skirts loosely in hand and set off through the crowds.
The banquet hall of the palace was large enough to house the entirety of the nobles in the realm and most of their major retainers as well. It was a grand structure with elegance and richness built into the very walls. Tapestries with the heraldry of the Bangs hung from every beam and nook— The yellow eyes of the black and white wolf following all those who dared their presence with a sly keenness.
The women who made up the King's Harem had their own heraldry, passed down from the families they hailed from and kept if only as a token of fondness from their lives before. They were not permitted to hang in places of state, nor were they permitted to even be within eyesight of the Wolf. It was a threat to their power to place such importance on lower houses, and could be seen as an act of treason to even suggest such.
It was a shame. The banners of houses Seo and Yang in particular were vibrant and colorful. They would have brought life to the white, gray and black of House Bang but nothing could overshadow the crowned wolves.
Your thoughts of banners and symbols were a distraction from what you planned. The beating of your heart had its own flutter, one far less beautiful and flattering than the woman from earlier. It's crescendo sped as you stepped into the line of courtiers that neatly led up to the dais where the royal family sat like pretty paintings. The line moved, but painstakingly slow. It inched forward like the crawling of a slug after a hard rain, and you could only wish someone would salt you and be done with it.
Those in front and behind you chatted and carried about merrily as they waited their turn. They were of two sorts: simple creatures who had neither hide nor hair in the affairs of court or sordid schemers whose flattery and lies were concealed enough to be on the winning end. They had no fears of how their presence would be received by the rulers of their realm. They were safe, while your head was already placed on the metaphorical chopping block.
Your only hope at calm were the banners.
Every time the herald at the head of the procession called out names and titles, you brought their banners to mind. House Jeon, Lords of the Anpanman Woods: a wooded forest with an archer riding atop a monstrous hare at its forefront. House Wang, Wardens of the Southern Border: a thin sword with a snarling hound’s head as the pommel. House Kwon, Protectors of the Treasures of the East Sea: an extravagantly colorful sea dragon dripping in molten gold as it ascends from a deep blue ocean. House Min, Keepers of the Western Jungles: a rare, white tiger stalking amongst a dark green growth.
Every Great Lord was in attendance with their minor counterparts, and every one of them had their proud banners and symbols with deep rooted history and lore. You had been taught all of them by your tutors in your childhood, growing up with stories of their conquests and lineages.
You remembered that House Jeon was one of the youngest of the great houses, rising to power by claiming the timber bounty of their woods. House Wang was older and more storied, a history of mismatched allegiances with the King across the wastes and ancient claims to the Crown of Miroh. House Kwon was even older and as powerful as it was queer: Sea Lords with ties to the Free Isles in the West. House Min was the most shrouded. They were covered in the mythos of legends, with fact and fiction blurring reality.
“Lord Hyunjin, of House Hwang, Keepers of the Heartlands,” the Herald called. Their banners depict a common ferret curling around a brilliant sapphire. They were upstarts who had risen with the Bang's rule; they were no friends of you or yours.
You watched as the handsome Lord smiled and jested with the Royals, even with stern King Bang himself. He seemed to pay close attention to the Princes’ Christopher and Felix. It would not do to dwell, but you noted his connections with a keen interest.
The Hwang's had been close to the crown for more than two centuries, since the House Bang had risen from their ancestral home of the Forded Rivers to claim the throne through blood and war. The Hwang's had been Champions of the cause, steadfast allies of the offensive in the Red Rebellion . Their loyalty had not been forgotten and their rise had been meteoric and quick compared to the lengthy reigns of other Great Houses. In a matter of a few generations, they had risen from titles minor landholders to a major power in the politics of the realm. You had no doubt that Lord Hwang sought even more favors with the friendships he curried with the Princes.
As you continued your wait, you watched the man in question lobby about. He was tall, but graceful and as elegant as any old house could be. Even as he spoke to fellow couriers, he was refined but approachable in a way that most were not. He smiled coyly at another courtier before his eyes met yours and his lips fell flat. You averted your gaze quickly, your mind faltering. You had not killed Princess Mai, but his stare suggested otherwise.
“Young Lady Sterling,” was all you received from the Herald when your time came. There were no titles, no honors, no places of power. All you had was a family name that was dying, connected to a murderous traitor.
Relying on your training in graces and decorum, you dropped to your knees and bowed to the family who ruled the lands you called home and recited words from a distant memory. “Of bravery and courage, of rule and might; blessed and long be your reign.”
“You may rise,” King Bang commanded.
And so you rose to regard the man who condemned your father to death.
He sat in the middle of the dais with his queen to his right and his Most Favored, Beauty Lee, to his left. She was as resplendent as ever in expensive silks with her hair coiffed into the most stylish fashion with a pleasant smile curving her rouged lips. The queen was more somber. She wore the dark purple hues of royalty, and kept a regality that was unapproachable to say the least. She regarded you coolly, but you could see the hostility in her eyes. Princess Mai had been her natural daughter.
“You certainly favor your mother,” King Bang commented gruffly. It was not an exclamation of emotion, it was a simple observation.
“I’m pleased to hear I have my mother's charms, Your Majesty,” you replied with eloquence. You spoke softly, keeping a demure coyness about yourself that you had honed to a fine art.
“She was always a welcome sight,” the King added. Courtly arrogance mixed with courtly love. He too was playing the game. He blessed you with a smile that had the scar at the corner of his mouth standing to prominence before posing a question that had you caught off guard. “Which one of my sons is it then?”
“I'm sorry your majesty, I don't–”
“Is it the laughing and fierce Prince Jeongin? Or mayhaps the shy and courtly Prince Jisung? Or do you prefer the bold and strong Prince Changbin?”
“I–”
“Or perhaps your mother plans to aim higher?” He barreled along, his words never losing the flirting intrigue of courtly love but gaining the edge of a longsword. He glanced down the table of the dais, past his queen and to the silver crown threaded with dark iron wolves that sat atop Price Christopher’s head. He made no comment, but he did give you a look akin to pity. You hated it that look and everything it stood for.
“Your Majesty,” you spoke, inflicting an intentional waver to your voice and forcing your eyes to water with tears. It was not hard to fein being the weak, scared girl that King Bang required of you. “I would never dare to presume any grand intentions. I a humble servant of the crown, and I will do whatever you require to earn your love back for the House Sterling.”
“I owe no love to your family, young lady, and I never intend to. House Sterling is dying, and I will not save the family of Traitors. It's only by the good graces of your Mother that you both were not banished across the northern border.” The edge was dulling. One flutter. Two flutters. A few more until it wouldn't even be able to cut butter.
“My mother has retaken her maiden name, returning to the mantle of the Jeons. I have no such luxury, Your Majesty. I will forever be cursed by the sins of my father, but I will forever work to make amends.” A flutter of a sweet song. Honeyed with the naivety of a girl, and blessed to come from pretty lips. The blade was dulled, but you were set on making it crumble to iron dust.
“And how would you do that?”
“Put me to work, Your Majesty. I will slave as a Maid until I earn your love, or my death.”
A rumble went up behind you at your proclamation. You paid them no mind. Your attention was on the King.
He's the king of a realm. Make him feel like the King of the world. The only man within your sights. The highest of them all– a God.
“The youngest of the formerly Great House Sterling content to scrub floors and empty chamber pots?”
“My House’s pride is nothing to me. I serve the crown before all others. My duty is to to realm, Your Majesty– to you.” You dropped to your knees to peform the formal bow again. It was a sign of respect, a sign of your servitude.
“You may outdo your mother's charms yet,” the King remarked with a hidden smile playing in the shadows his golden, heavily bejewelled crown cast upon his face. “I will discuss your plight with my Councilors, Lady Sterling. Until a decision is made, you are welcome to feast and revel in the glory of the Royal Court.”
“You are most kind and just, Your Majesty.” You stood from the ground with the help of the Herald. He touched you delicately and respectfully as the flutters stirred up the dust of iron. You had won. It was a small victory, the first of many, but it was still a victory.
In the haze of the glittering particles, the court watched.
Beauty Lee regarded you with renewed interest. Queen Bang was stony, her murderous eyes portraying her displeasure but no words leaving her pursed lips. The Princes all watched with varying levels of interest in their Father's affairs, but the only one whom mattered still looked at you with pity.
It stoked your anger. You were a daughter of the Great Sterlings, former Wardens of the war torn Northern Borders. Your family was fierce and proud, tempered by the harsh climate and the even harsher hands of the war torn barbarians. You had the blood of warlords, conquers, and leaders. You may strip your pride to appease the King, but it would always be in your heart. You hated the Princes' pity, but you could use it in the same way you used the King's fondness for beautiful damsels.
His son would be no different. He would fall at your feet, ready to restore you and your family for no other reason than the love of being a hero for a the songs of singers across the continent. It was as simple as playing him like the harp you spent so many hours practicing. His tune would be notes of restoration and riches.
“Lady Sterling!” A boy called as you made for the Hall’s exit for a breath of fresh air and to revel in your victory. He was young, freshed faced with the hint of acne playing across his forehead. He dressed in the livery of House Wang: the metallic glint of iron present on all the accents of his dark clothing. He bowed politely before handing you a scratch of gray fabric.
It was rimmed with shiny silver thread and had intricate wolves with gems inlaid into the fabric for eyes at all four corners. The initials LMH elegantly scrawled along the center in delicate lines and swirls.
It was a royal favor, but not the one you had desired.
Christopher
To the great ire of their father, Minho had refused his place on the dais.
The refusal had led to a screaming match that could be heard in the next wing. The roars of his brother and father filled the halls with curses and anger. It only worsened when Minho refused to attend the festivities all together. King Bang had threatened to have him whipped, to which Minho had laughed maniacally and downed the rest of the fire whiskey he insisted on having on hand with his father.
“Do it! I've learned well how to bear pain, Father,” Minho screamed in rage at the threat.
Christopher wasn't certain on what lengths King Bang would have gone had he not stepped in with a sobbing Beauty Lee at his heels. He wasn't even certain on which had calmed the King; his intervention and promises to handle his wayward brother or the tears drenching Beauty Lee's silks. Either way, he had relented and Minho had avoided the whip.
It was the beginning of a deadly dance. He would have to balance the both of them: his father's hot headed rages, and his brother’s own uncontrolled hatred. The price of losing would not be a simple sore foot. A wrong step could ripple across the floor and disrupt the entire performance; sending everyone toppling to their dooms.
“That was the murderer?” Changbin asked from his side. The third prince had been too preoccupied with his food and the ladies milling about to pay much attention to the King's audiences. He had only taken note when the girl had fallen to her knees to prostrate herself in desperation.
“She's no murderer,” Christopher chided.
“Did her family kill our sister or not, Chris?” Changbin countered with annoyance. Anger simmered just under the surface. Princess Mai was a sore topic even so many years later.
“They did. She did not. She was just a kid when it happened.” They had all been young then. A child's blissful ignorance was no place for the blame of their parents’ faults. All of the Princes' should know that, but Christopher knew it most.
“Mai was just a kid, too. An innocent, sweet, lively and damn charming kid. Had she lived, I would probably be in debt for sweets and dresses. I would have been a beggar proudly for our baby sister, yet you take up in defense for the blood of her murderer?”
“I miss Mai as much as you do, more even, but her murderer was executed. There's nothing else for us to do,” Christopher shot back. He was feeling his own anger rise. There were few things that he wouldn't do for his family, his siblings. Changing the past was not within his realm of capabilities.
“Are you truly that much of a fool?” Changbin asked incredulously. His anger was still held tightly in check.
“Is it foolishness to allow a person to pave their own path?” Christopher returned. He lacked the heat of his younger brother. He could never be mad at any of the boys who shared his blood. They were all young, still finding their way into manhood and rule with the black and white lens of good and evil. If only the world were so simply colored.
“It's foolishness that could end in an early grave.”
It was not Changbin who answered. The voice was feminine, but hard. It was the voice of a woman who had seen too much, been forced to harden her edges at the behest of those in power around her.
Queen Bang regarded her natural son and his brother with a stern stare. The panes of her face were sharp, severe even. Hers was a beauty that didn't often mesh with the other ladies of the palace. It was refined but not delicate; the type of face that would strike fear in a man's heart as much as lust. It had both Christopher and Changbin sealing their lips tight to stave off any protest that bubbled.
“This is not appropriate banquet conversation,” she stated with a final withering stare before turning her attention back to the audiences entertaining the King. He was deep in conversation with a Captain from the Free Isles about some strange sea beast that had been spotted. From the look of the table, he was also deep in his cups as he boasted about hunts from his youth of beasts of yore.
Taking the reprieve, Christopher searched the room for Minho. He had promised he would at least be present, wandering the room discreetly so as not to raise gossip about the Second Prince being excluded from the dais. He was to have his first pick of any Lady that caught his eye, and he had only to choose one– one gentlelady to give his father the illusion that the wayward Prince had been subdued into court life.
Of course, Minho had to make even a simple task an effort in patience and persistence.
However, Christopher could not have patience. It went against everything he knew and everything he was, but he had to act. There was no room for error, nor weakness in the Court of Miroh.
At a look, the page was running towards him. He was well dressed in the colors of his Liege, the fabric glinting in the light like polished iron. With a well placed command and Changbin watching curiously, the boy took off with quick feet and vigor for a promised knighthood.
A future King had to be a man of action.
Minho
The palace library was a place of wonder for any intrepid mind. It was filled with the works of great scholars and war strategists renowned for their taciturn. Works from all across the world, they told of histories, battles, and gentleman's philosophy. It was all knowledge that any young man should know, approved by the crown and kept up by an army of ever present eunuchs who dusted the shelves and kept the sight fit for royalty.
Tomes upon tomes of knowledge lined the high walls with ladders placed at intervals to reach the topmost shelves. The tops of the ladders ended in marbled ceilings that supported the second floor balcony. It was a wide open walkway lined with yet more books that opened up to show the floor below.
Minho had spent a lot of his youth in the brightly lit rotunda. He studied with his appointed tutors, absorbing the knowledge a spare must have like a sponge desperate for hydration. Even when the old men would give him leave, he would stay. Day would turn to dusk as he poured over the words of wise men.
But Minho had learned what the library could teach him. When he had reached out for more, he had been denied. The Library eunuchs had told him that they held all the knowledge in the world in their shelves. His tutors had brushed off his queries with well mannered hands. His father had outright scoffed and berated him to work harder at his swordsmanship instead of wasting his time with yet more books.
Desperate for more, Minho had sought knowledge through travel.
His early years had seen him guesting the courts of Great and Lesser Lords, browsing their own shelves for things he had yet to learn. Each time, he was disappointed. Each time, he moved on with more vigor. It wasn't until his desperation took him to the city taverns, art houses, and lone monasteries in tall, reclusive mountains that he learned the greatest lesson of his life: through understanding of life could never be found until one experienced the people of the world itself.
He had come to hate the palace library, disdaining the time he had wasted learning what was deemed appropriate for a Prince. It was unfortunate that it was an excellent place to find a quiet and unassuming corner with few ears that listened. It was even more deserted with the Selection happening. No Lords browsed the shelves, and few eunuchs were on duty.
“How have you been, old friend?” Hwang Hyunjin asked as he slid into the seat next to Minho. They were cushioned and pushed into an empty corner, meant for spending hours reading.
“Better,” Minho answered. The table between them held a silvered platter complete with three tumblers and a decanter of liquor. He poured them both a drink and took a healthy swallow of his own.
“Does the idea of Miroh court life distress you so much?”
“As much as having my manhood chopped off,” he answered wryly.
“I'm sure our glorious King would love to have that arranged if you don't fall in line,” Jackson Wang joked as he took a third seat. He squeezed in next to Hyunjin, the table separating the Prince from his guests.
“Yes. He would,” Minho agreed grimly. Another sip of the liquor had fire burning in his throat. He poured some for the new arrival in the empty glass.
“It needs not be that way,” Hyunjin stated. “It's as simple as doing what he asks.”
“I will not, and I'm surprised you would even suggest such.”
Minho had spent time with almost all the Lords of Miroh. He had supped in their dining halls, listened in on their councils, advocated for reform favoring the small folk with what attention he curried. He was familiar with them all, but none more so than Lords Wang and Hwang. They were as close to him as his own brothers. They knew his views and he knew theirs.
“We have discussed this before. If you want to seek change, you have to be in a position to do so,” Jackson said. He picked up his tumbler and sniffed the liquid indulgently before taking a healthy swallow.
“And it shall not be by so blatantly ignoring your father's wishes,” Hyunjin added. His own glass remained untouched.
“You wish me to abandon everything I believe and play the part?” Minho was annoyed, but not surprised. This was a normal point of contention in the trio.
“Jackson controls the Southern Border. I have dominion over most of the Midland Plains. We have influence, but with a Prince advocating to our ends, we could scarcely be denied”, Hyunjin said, passion deepening with every word. It was the same old conversation, but never had he pushed so blatantly. Minho's return to Court seemed to heighten his resolve.
“We could not risk altering the realm within a fortnight. We have to play the long Game. Even revealing our cards too soon could lose us royal favor, and power. Your father is not so inclined to a liberal nature,” Jackson added. He had abandoned his seat all together, glass of liquor in hand.
“The long game is waiting until Christopher is crow–”
“Your brother is a strong and moral Prince, but he is a traditionalist. Even in him, you will not find the ally you think,” Hyunjin cut off Minho's protest.
“If you are suggesting we overthrow my brother, you won't have to deal with my father. I'll have your head of my own accord,” Minho spat, sudden anger getting the best of him. His brother's all had their faults, but he would forever be loyal to them.
“We would never suggest such a thing, but he will need the right people around him when he ascends. The current Council, baring myself and Lord Wang, are all bootlicking yes-men with traditionalist loyalties. They would see the same wars and the same laws in place for eternity,” Hyunjin countered.
“Ah, the Late Lord Jeon’s writ on the rights of a nobleman. What a crock of shit,” Jackson hummed as he browsed the shelves. He was sipping his liquor as Minho and Hyunjin spoke, browsing through the tomes on the shelves next to their group as he did. Even though he didn't seem too invested, Minho knew it would be unwise to think so.
The Wang were an old name and had ancestral rights to the Southern Border. Across that border, was an endless stretch of desert ruled by a King shunned and forgotten by all except the Wang’s. It was said the family's outlandish politics were an extension of that King's will, and the Wang's did not hide it. If anything, they flaunted it and were the only Great House to push for liberal reform– at least with any visibility.
“He needs you to be his right hand, but the other Lords would never accept you as you are now,” Hyunjin advised, ignoring his friend's outburst.
“What our ever so serious Hyunjin is suggesting is a mummers’ farce. Do your father's bidding where the world can see, while playing your hand behind the scenes,” Jackson said, still making the odd disproving noise as he browsed the books written by less inclined individuals. “It's not ideal, but it's become necessity.”
Minho did not like anything that was being said.
He had spent his whole life concentrating on the belief that rule and power could never end without corruption. It didn't matter how just and moral you were, the reigns of an entire people would callous and blacken your beliefs until your life revolved around cowing populations into submission with the threat of a sword. That was simply how human nature worked.
His beliefs had not come without cause.
The Red Rebellions had torn the realm asunder. It had been all in the name of ridding themselves of a tyrant King Kim. When the Bang's had won, the Kingdom entered a golden age. Arts and philosophy flourished and laws changed to usher in a new world for the people of the time, but history had proven to be cyclic. Even being his own family, Minho could not deny that the reign of the Bang family was heading in the direction of the Kim’s.
His only consolation had been Christopher. He was a just and upright man, but he had been raised to rule under the constant traditionally forged sword of their father. He had never seen the world outside of the Capital, and likely never would.
He would never see the villages in the dense Jungles of the West. The deeper you went into the verdant green, the more sparse populations got until civilization gave way to angry wildness that had retaken abandoned towns; their peoples forever lost to disease. Many still living remained under constant quarantine, never able to leave their homes for fear of spreading illness and death by the swords of those who held them there. They would not be helped. They would die and be forgotten like the others.
He would never know the desperation of the poachers in the Anpanman Woods. They were injured soldiers who had served the realm only to be discarded when they were no longer of use. They were green boys who were forced to support their families. They were the downtrodden no one cared for until they stepped on the toes of a Lord.
He would never see the sorrow of the wives of the Eastern Coast. Their husbands left them with babes still at the breast to mine gold in the crown controlled Free Isles. For the cost of the Crown's coffers, a lot of them would perish at sea or in the mines. They would never see their children grow.
Christopher would have to connect with his people. He would have to live amongst them to remember that it was not a Nation he ruled, but living humans with lives and stories of their own. Forgetting that was often the fall of a good King. He could not forget. Minho would not let him.
“Give me a script and dress me in motley, damnit.”
| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 |
Pairings: Vampire!Lee Know/OC, Vampire!Bangchan/OC (suprise!!!!)
Summary: Vampyres dominate the entertainment world with their otherworldly beauty and talent. It’s a world you must be born into, but a few lucky ones are Marked. Stripped from her home and everything she knows, Minji’s Marking means that she has to rely on the Devil himself, Lee Minho, to be her mentor. He’s cute and sweet to the public, but behind closed doors the monster comes out to play.
Content: Angst, Slow burn, lotsa plot, eventual smut, vampires, dark themes, original characters, first person perspective, general 18+ content, alternate idol universe, asshole Lee Know, surprise love triangle, discussion of blood, discussions of death, depictions of violence, sexual tension, petnames/kitten,
WC: 5937
Minors do not interact. Do not repost my content to other websites, this includes translations.
Notes: beep boop oops.
Tag List: @linocz
I could see him.
I could smell him.
I could feel him.
Lee Minho was so close that I could feel his breath fan across the bridge of my nose and feather against my eyelashes. His hands were at his sides, balled up into white fingered fists. His breaths were heavy, erratic. His body language said anger, but his eyes…
“Kitten,” he mumbled. His tone was soft, lulling. I found myself leaning into him, getting closer until my chest was pressed against his harder one. He felt solid, safe. Acting on instinct, I buried my face into the fabric of his shirt and inhaled. He smelled clean, but there's a hidden spice that lingered. It was tangy, enticing. I inhaled deeper in a desperate attempt for more.
“You're not making it easier, you know that?” He asked as I drank my fill of him. Every muscle in his body was tense, but he made no move to pull away or stop me. “Do you know how hard it is?”
“Minho,” I mumbled against the soft cotton of his shirt. I didn't know what was happening. I didn't know where we were, but something gnawed at me. There was a nagging feeling in my gut that told me something was off, but I couldn’t place it.
“I’ve been told something would be mine for so long, but when I get it: I can't have it,” he said. He didn't seem to be speaking to me. He was musing, thinking things he had been holding in out loud.
The nagging spread from my gut to my mind. I tore my face away from Minho’s chest to look up at him in confusion, but he was calm outside of the tension coiled in every muscle. His face was glowing in a dim golden light. It was a stark contrast to the way I usually saw him. He was not my own personal demon of torture, but an angel who had fallen. The notion was reflected in his eyes. I could see anger and sorrow: a longing for something that should be but wasn't.
I couldn't help myself. I reached up, hesitating for the briefest of moments as my fingers lingered above the smooth skin of his cheek. That nagging feeling never left, but I wanted to help him. I wanted to ease whatever was causing that beautifully distressing look. I wanted to be the solution – I wanted to be his solution. I let my reservations fall to the wayside as I cupped his cheek in my palm. His eyelashes fluttered over his wide eyes as he blinked: once, twice. The third time, they stayed closed and he leaned into my touch with a small sigh.
“It's okay,” I whispered. I was scared that if I spoke too loud or too much, whatever was happening would stop.
“You don't know that. You don't know anything.”
“I know you're beautiful. You try to hide it behind snarky comments and snears, but I know it. There's something about you, Lee Minho, that is soft and kind. Even if you don't want anyone else to know it.”
At my whispered confession, his eyes opened. I worried that I had said too much. I worried that I shattered the moment, but he simply looked at me. He didn't speak. He didn't do anything but stare, but it was a stare with a thousand unspoken words and thoughts. It was a stare with no mask, no barriers. I could see everything, and he was letting me.
But then everything shattered, and I woke up.
As the world around me came into focus, I felt my head spin with confusion. It was a dream, but it felt so real. I could still feel his skin under my hand. His scent still lingered, but the comforting golden glow of the dream had faded into reality.
I was in the comfort of my dorm with my blankets twisted around my legs. The room was dark, but in my new world that was never a good indicator of the time of day. The thick curtains covering the sole window blocked out any natural light, so I sucked it up and risked the neon glare of the alarm: 5:43pm.
The sun would be setting shortly, and it was the first time since being Marked that I woke up so close to my new ‘normal’ hours. Maybe I should have been happy about that, but it made me sad. I felt a sudden longing for the sun. I had never been one to bask in the sunshine during the summer months, but I couldn't help but feel like I was in my final parting moment with an old but distant friend.
Yoojin was sleeping soundly in her purple satin sheets. If I opened the curtains, I would be risking a lot more than just waking my two sleeping roommates, but I had to see it. In a strange way, it was a part of accepting my fate. I had to have one last moment – one last fully human moment where I was just a simple girl trying to decide my own future.
I carefully untangled myself from my bedding and stood as quietly as I could. I was halfway to the door of the room when I heard a rustling from behind me. Maeri was climbing out of her own bed. Without any comment from either of us, I opened the door with her following along behind me.
I didn't have a specific destination. I just wanted to feel the warmth. We made it out of the dorm as a whole in silence when Maeri finally spoke, “This way.”
She beckoned me in the opposite direction of the main entrance to the building. We went down a long hall filled with other dorm units before she popped open a door to a stairwell and ushered me to go first. I didn't question her. Even being a human, she seemed to understand.
At the top of the stairwell, I pushed through a heavy metal door before stepping out onto the flat roof of the dorm complex. The sun was just starting to dip into the horizon, and something inside of me twisted at the sight. My emotions simmered along with the heat of the concrete. I was learning better than trying to tame them. Minho had essentially told me it was pointless, so I just let myself feel.
The sun tickled my skin in an almost unpleasant way. I knew it wasn't normal. It was a sign of the Change. My physiology was morphing into something different. Different didn't equate to bad– I had known that all along. It was just a process of adjustment, and grieving. It was saying goodbye to something that could have been, but would no longer be and embracing something new.
As I contemplated, Maeri stepped closer and took my hand into her smaller one. She was warm and sturdy, and she always would be. She could enjoy hot summer days for the rest of her life. She would always be able to indulge in Chinese food. She would forever be human, whereas I would not. Strangely, I took comfort in that. She was a constant in my ever changing life. Even if the Change killed me, Maeri would live on.
“It takes time,” she finally broke the silence. Her normally bubbly and feisty attitude was gone. She was somber and strangely calm: two things I never expected from her.
“I’m not sure if I have time.” I trusted Maeri. I truly did. From the moment I had met her, she had been a constant presence. She had adopted me even if it was against my will, and I knew I could tell her anything and she would listen – she would even help if she could. A part of me wanted to tell her everything; Minho and Bangchan’s ominous warnings, my conspiracy that something was going on in the Association. I knew it would make me feel better, but I didn’t want to put her in danger.
“Of course you do,” Maeri said, squeezing my hand tighter. “You’re the first Mark I’ve ever met, but I’ve heard the girls around the dorms talk.”
“I have too. They are always very quick to make hushed comments just loud enough so I can hear about how I’m a mutant and not a true Vampyre.”
“They are elitist assholes, but surprisingly: I can listen when I want to. I can tell you things that they won’t,” Maeri informed me as she smiled at me with some of her mischievous humor back on her face.
“Like what luxury brand is out of style?” I asked back.
“I mean that is helpful, but they guard those secrets with their lives.” She gave a small giggle that I couldn’t help but mimic before continuing. “Yoojin has actually been guiding you in the right direction.”
“Yoojin doesn’t say much,” I said as I contemplated the thought. She was always mothering the both of us, but she never spoke much about the Change or being a Vampyre outside of the very surface level topics. I never pushed her to. I feared doing so would cause our relationship to shift. She would stop seeing me as a friend, and start seeing me as a genetic freak like every other Vampyre I had encountered.
“I think it’s a part of the whole ice queen act she has going on, but she is always nagging you to eat better. She is also the reason that you're going to be training in the gym instead of dance practice. She’s doing it because she cares, of course, but also because physical health and strength…”
“Will make the Change less likely to kill me?” I prompted when she hesitated. She grimaced, her hand squeezing mine so tight that it was going numb.
“Yes.”
“If it’s that simple, why isn't it in the damned textbook?” I asked in frustration.
“Maybe it is, but…”
“Maeri, I have enough people not being blunt with me. Don’t be one of them.”
“Don’t you-” She started only to stop to heave a frustrated sigh. “Isn’t it kind of weird that it isn’t the first thing they tell you when you're Marked?”
It was my turn to hesitate. Her question was very similar to the many I contemplated ever since the Tracker found me. It was full of uncertainty, confusion, and a dull sense of negligence. For the second time, I thought about telling her everything. I wanted to. The words were on the tip of my tongue, but the sun was falling below the horizon. In a matter of minutes, the city would be enveloped in darkness and the safety of day would be gone.
“When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro,” I quoted instead. I couldn’t answer her question just like I couldn’t answer my own, so I turned to the tried and true method of deflection. Minho told me to ask the right questions, but I got a feeling that Vampyric society would not take kindly to Maeri asking any questions at all.
She was still holding my hand, but her grip had loosened. I could feel the blood return to my deprived limb as I gestured with my other one at the door back into the building. “We should probably get ready. We have vocal lessons this morn- tonight”
She didn’t move immediately, and her stare was level enough to put Minho’s to the test. I could tell she could see right through me. She knew I was avoiding her question.
“Let’s go be professionals, then,” she nodded.
I always had a sneaking suspicion, but it was then that I knew Maeri was one of the greatest friends I would ever have.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Read the sheet music!”
“Follow the notes!”
“You're straining!”
“Your pitch is off!”
I had heard it all, and for a good constant few hours straight.
Ms. Yamamoto was a woman with decades of experience in vocal training. She had worked with some of the biggest names from the Japanese industry, but more importantly: she was human. Like all humans who managed to squeeze their way into the Vampyre dominated idol industry, she worked hard to earn her place and she was talented beyond imagination. She also didn't treat me any differently than she did the other trainees. She was strict, but she was that way with everyone.
Being scolded was a small price to pay for a refreshing break from Vampyre trainers who looked at me with distaste, and I found myself improving each time I left her class. I would most likely never be notable for my vocal abilities, but I was becoming passable. It was enough to have me smiling as I walked the halls of JYP to get to the basement level where the gym was housed.
Bangchan would be meeting me for our first workout session, and I didn't want to be late. He was doing me a favor – or he was doing Yoojin a favor – and I didn't want to disrespect his time in such a way. I especially didn't want to when I knew for a fact he was a very busy guy.
JYP’s basement was very much just a bare bones version of the upper floors. It wasn't nearly as decorative, and a few of the side halls were just as creepy as they were sparse. In my normal life, I wouldn't have even noticed but being around Vampyres had apparently made me prone to looking over my shoulder. I hastened my walk to a brisk pace.
I was about to step over the threshold of the gym when I heard it: hushed, but hurried whispers. They were a hum that could be heard even over the gym equipment in use. I couldn't make out the words, but the voices tickled a sense of familiarity in me. Curiosity killed the Mark. I followed the sounds, so distant but a vague buzzing in my ear. They had to be near, otherwise how in the world could I hear them?
My trail led me through the sparsely populated gym and down another hall towards the back of the cavernous room. With each passing step, the sounds became clearer. They came into focus enough so I could recognize syllables if not words.
“Ill– Lix. No.”
It was Bangchan. I was sure of it. And someone was ill?
I continued the trail like a hunting dog who had picked up a scent, and the closer I got and the more I heard: the more my newest friends paranoia and panic made themselves known. I was walking so fast that I was almost running, but then I wasn't. When the sounds came fully into focus, I halted abruptly. I didn't see anyone but there were closed doors to either side of me and I could hear the hushed conversation as if they were whispering into my ear.
“Do you want to make the risk greater for all of us?” Bangchan asked. There was authority in his words, but frustration as well.
“But I–”
“You were a special case, Felix. You're one of us,” he interrupted before Felix could finish his thought.
“That's selfish, Chan. That's not like you,” Felix scolded with sadness laced in every word. I found myself holding my breath, listening intently to something that clearly wasn't meant to be overheard.
“We have to look out for our own. You, the rest of the Kids: you're my priority.”
“She's tied to Minho. Nothing is going to change that unless she dies. You know that, Chan.”
My heart started beating so hard in my chest that I had to will myself to calm down so I could continue hearing. Tied to Minho and death? Maybe it was a leap of logic, but I knew in my gut they were talking about me. They had to be, but how was I tied to him?
“I know, and he likes it about as well as she probably would.”
“So we leave her to die?” Panic mixed with his sadness, and my heartbroke. As a casual fan, I knew Felix was known for being the sunshine. He was sweet, soft – almost innocent in a way. He was so caring even over a near stranger.
My hands balled up into fist. I suddenly felt protective. I wanted to murder anyone who so much as looked sideways at him. He was too good – too pure – to sound so melancholy. Images – not unlike the ones I had of Minho – flashed in my mind. They switched from a faceless enemy to Bangchan and back again.
“You know that's not what I'm saying. I don't want that and I wouldn't let that happen,” Bangchan rejected the notion. He sounded tired – exhausted even. My anger simmered from a rolling boil to something much easier to handle.
“But you are! You know what's going to happen if we don't say anything. It's happened so many times, I've lost count,” Felix argued with a whine in his voice.
“It didn't happen to you,” Bangchan pointed out.
“That’s because you told me. Had you not, I probably would have died too.”
“Lix, I only told you when you had adjusted enough to accept it. We have to give it time.”
“I don't think she has time. Her emotions are out of control, her Mark is expanding, and she tried to kill Minho. If the Association even got wind–”
“They haven't and they won't,” Bangchan interrupted with finality.
Felix’s tirade confirmed that they were talking about me, unless attempts on Minho's life were a common occurrence. I certainly shouldn't have listened in on a private conversation, but I could no longer just walk away. Their argument only brought me more answers than questions. Unanswered questions combined with danger ignited into another spiral. It wasn't red; it was the gray of steely determination.
“You can't–”
My entire body trembled. My hand shook so hard that I struggled with the metal door handle, my nails clacking against it clumsily. The sounds of hushed conversation immediately ceased. They knew I was coming.
Heart pounding, I entered their space and found myself staring into the dark eyes of Bangchan. He was right at the other side of the doorway, awaiting my arrival with irritation evident in his features. It probably would have had human me cowed into submission, but I was no longer human and I was finally starting to accept that unwanted fact.
“Explain,” I stated firmly as I stared at him with as much unwaveringly firmness as I could.
“Explain?” He repeated incredulously. “I wasn't the one eavesdropping on a private conversation.”
“No, but the conversation was about me. I should be involved,” I insisted. I had dealt with Minho's chaotic drama and threats, but Bangchan had been nothing but kind to me. He smiled easily, flashing his damned dimples like a get out of jail free card. It had been so easy to feel comfortable around him, but I was not prepared to face Leader Bangchan.
He wasn't particularly tall, but he had a way of extending his presence to oppress any rebellion with a simple look. It was a look of authority, command. I didn't want to give in. I didn't want to avert his gaze, but I found my eyes falling to my hands. They were unconsciously tugging at the hem of my own shirt– a nervous habit.
“I didn't mean to,” I interrupted his intense silence by way of apology.
“You didn't mean to snoop outside the door where a conversation that didn't involve you was taking place?” Christopher asked with eerily familiar sarcasm dripping from his every word. It didn't suit him, but it was reminiscent of something his much more sullen bandmate would say.
“I could hear you. I wasn't trying to!”
“How did you hear us?” Felix asked. Until his calming voice floated onto the air, I had forgotten he was there under the intense stare of Bangchan. My attention turned to him, and my breath hitched in the back of my throat. I had been out of my mind during my first encounter with Lee Felix. I didn't have the mental space at the time to fully take him in.
All of Stray Kids were unnaturally attractive. They all would make a Greek statue look like a pale imitation of perfection, but Felix’s beauty went even further. He was ethereal – so beautiful it was painful to look at but you couldn't bear to look away. It was the type of beauty that others – male or female – would kill to possess or protect. It was not the type of beauty that anyone would ever be immune to.
His stare made it all the more unbearable. It made me feel like I was drowning in thick, molten honey. It was a sweet suffocation that was stripping away all of my oxygen to reveal the very depths of my soul. It was not a death I could resist. I was not one that I wanted to resist.
“I don't know,” I answered him with full honesty. I didn't want to lie to him, but I had a strange feeling that I wouldn't have been able to even if I wanted to. “I got to the gym and I could just hear you.”
“The entrance?” Felix prodded.
“Yes.”
I saw him turn his honeyed stare to Bangchan. He looked at his group's leader pointedly. There was a silent exchange, one I was not privy to with no chance of deciphering.
“Call Minho,” Bangchan instructed suddenly with a solemn nod at Felix. He turned and did as he was told without hesitation.
“What's going on?” I asked warily.
“It's not our place to tell you,” Bangchan answered. His face was all hard lines firmly cut in stone. It was such a stark contrast to my other experience with him that it made my heart ache. His expression softened suddenly, as if sensing my emotions as easily as reading a book. “I'm sorry. My hands are tied here.”
His apology had me falling into an unsettling silence that was pierced only by the shrill sound of Felix’s phone as he called Minho. The noise rattled my frayed nerves as it droned endlessly. I could feel the emotions bubbling in the pit of my stomach. Of course Minho wouldn’t answer when it felt like my questions were on the cusps of answers.
My hands worked the hem of my shirt with a slight shake. I looked frantically around the room for something to distract myself, but the only things to be found were old gym mats and dust. It swirled in the fluorescent lighting, creating tiny tornadoes of allergens that would make most humans sneeze and run for the Benadryl.
Did Vampyres have allergies?
The thought had a cackle slipping from me like sand through fingers. It was ridiculous. I was ridiculous and Lee Minho was still firmly on my shitlist despite my dreams.
“Are you okay?” Bangchan asked. He was staring at me in a mixture of shock, amusement, and concern. It only made me laugh harder.
“Do you have allergies, Channie?” I asked breathlessly between fits of giggles. I didn’t even realize I used the nickname until the damage was done. Maybe I was mildly delirious, but it felt much better than calling him anything else. He raised a brow, contemplating something quietly.
“I don’t,” he shrugged after a moment. “I had a buddy during my trainee days who would break out in hives if he drank type A, but I think that had more to do with his donor than anything else.”
I sobered for just a moment, long enough for the information to register with my oddly disconnected brain. I pressed my lips together tightly, trying to contain the raucous laughter I knew was bubbling. Felix’s phone rang again, the outgoing call endlessly buzzing in my ears as I tried to contain myself.
“You know?” I wheezed. “I’m going to kill Lee Minho.”
“Are you, now?” Chan asked with mild humor.
“Yes. I might do it with my copy of Marked. They are both useless–”
“He should be here–” Felix interrupted me softly just as the door banged open and a very annoyed looking Minho burst made a bristling entrance. “Now.”
“No one looks dead to me, Lix,” he quipped with frustration as looked at each of us in turn. His gaze held mine when he found me, and my heart sped up in my chest to the point of being an arrhythmia. He looked perturbed beyond measure, and there was a faint smear of blood at one corner of his mouth. My mouth watered, and I huffed all the air in the room like it was a limited resource.
“Heart disease, Chan?” I asked weakly.
“Excuse me?” Chan asked in confusion.
“Can Vampyres have heart disease?” I clarified. I couldn’t bring myself to look away from Minho even as I spoke to Chan. He was all that I could see. He was all that I could smell, and he smelled sweet, spicy, and tangy all at once. It made me dizzy and lightheaded, but it also had fire burning to every inch of my body. It was consuming. It was burning every brain cell I had one by one until there was nothing left but him.
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Chan answered.
“But that’s not what's wrong with you,” Felix supplied from wherever he was.
I didn’t see him, and I didn’t want to because Minho’s tongue had peeked out from his lips to lick the smear from the corner of his mouth. I watched the movement like I was watching the most important moment in world history. I watched like a predator stalking its prey. I watched like a stupid, hormonal Mark that wanted things she couldn’t have– shouldn’t even want to have.
“Bloodlust,” Minho said. I saw his lips moving. I heard the sound, but it took an embarrassing amount of time for both of those things to connect.
“Bloodlust?” I asked dumbly.
“The smell? The burning need? It’s bloodlust.” It wasn’t Minho who confirmed it, but Felix.
“For fucks sake, Min. Clean yourself up when you leave your donor,” Chan huffed in exasperation.
“I would have,” Minho grunted. His pupil-blown stare hadn’t left me since it found me, but finally he blinked and took a deep breath that made his chest rise harshly. On his exhale, he looked away to regard Felix with an accusatory stare. “But someone told me there was an emergency.”
“You wouldn’t have come, otherwise,” Felix responded with a nonchalant shrug at his older friend. “Besides, this could very well turn into an emergency.”
“It’s time to explain things,” Chan started with a hint of the hard authority he had used earlier in his tone.
“No,” Minho cut him off. He was certainly not as easily subdued as I had been. A strange, demented little part of my brain wondered which one of them would win in a fight. As I contemplated their differences in size and muscle density, the demented side spiraled.
Sweaty. Shirtless. Angry. Muscles taut.
Reality didn’t help my unbidden fantasy. Chan had stood straighter, giving him the facade of being taller than he actually was. The muscles under his smooth skin flexed with tension as he took a step closer to Minho. He was projecting an image of hard authority in the straight lines of his face, but Minho did not flinch.
“It’s not your responsibility, Chan.”
“But you are; you’re my responsibility. You can’t–”
“No.” Calm. Unaffected. Serene.
“Do you want it to happen?” Chan asked with incredulity. “Because I know you, Minho. I know you too well, and I don't think you do.”
“Minji”, Minho called suddenly. He was staring down his leader even as he snapped my name through the air. I jolted, every nerve alight and ready for… something. “Leave.”
“Abso-freaking-loutely not,” I snapped back. Despite my lungs expanding harshly for air and my heart beating erratically, my feet were planted firmly to the ground.
At my rebellion, Minho broke his staredown with his leader to turn to me. There was still a faint trace of blood at the corner of his lip, and his eyes held a slightly unhinged glint to them that had the fine hairs on my arms standing up. Alarm bells rang in my head, screeching a tune of danger and death as adrenaline coursed through my system.
This was not Dream Minho. This was Minho in reality, and he could ruin me if he so desired. I had no doubt in my mind that he would enjoy draining me – killing me.
“I command,” Minho started. At that word – that stupidly simple word – something inside of me broke. It was almost like I could physically feel it snap. It was a violent rumble that had my body standing at full attention and my focus solely on my mentor, my own personal devil. “That you leave this entire floor.”
I was moving, feet shuffling to the door even as my brain protested the motions. I couldn’t even form words of protest, just a simple cry of indignation that had me feeling more weak and pathetic than I ever had in my life. My hand shook as I pushed open the offending barrier and stepped out into the hall.
“That was cruel, Min, and you know it,” I heard Felix call as he hurried after me. I felt his hand on my shoulder, guiding me out even though there was no need. I couldn’t stop moving if I wanted to.
“Felix,” I managed as we shuffled the halls together. My feet were still moving without direction from me, and my voice was shaking with reckless panic. He made a hum of acknowledgement. It was a deep sound, but soothing. It wiped away some of the emotions that were choking me until I was finally able to voice my question. “What the hell was that?”
“It’s–” he sighed as he stopped himself. The only sounds were our feet hitting the tiled floors, a mop splashing in a bucket from a janitor I couldn’t see, and the distant rumble of exercise equipment from the gym we had left behind.
“I can hear things I shouldn’t be able to hear,” I explained at his hesitation. “I’m having dreams I shouldn’t be having. I could not physically stop myself from listening when Minho told me to leave. I’m starting to think I might actually be going crazy, because none of this seems like weird quirks of a genetic mutation but it almost seems like ma–”
“You’re Changing,” Felix cut me off, his voice still the smooth rumble that had my fear and panic ebbing to the wayside. It was like I could feel in my body, vibrating through until all I could feel was comfort and warmth. Human voices couldn’t do that, and I didn’t think it had anything to do with biology either. “Part of the Change is enhanced senses.”
“That doesn’t–”
“And Mentor relationships are really strong bonds,” he continued over my weak attempt at a protest. “It’s only natural you would listen when he tells you something.”
“Bullshit,” I huffed. It was only then that I noticed his hand was still on my shoulder. I shrugged it off and felt every ounce of warmth leave at the loss of contact. We stepped onto the main floor, and I finally had regained control of my body. Anger, fear, and panic caused its way through my veins – taking root in my blood like a virus I couldn’t control. “None of this is natural.”
“Nature can be manipulated,” he stated. His body language radiated calm, but his eyes told a story of helplessness. I was fuming, angry at the situation but also at the stubborn personalities I was in the thick of it with. Violence and I were becoming well acquainted, but I couldn’t take out my frustrations on Felix. I could never and would never.
“Through science? Yes, but this doesn’t seem like any form of science I was taught in school,” I said, the fight melting from me like wax.
“The Association,” Felix began, the words making his face twist in disgust. “They call Vampryic manipulation ‘Auras.’ They say it's a projection of Vampyre specific pheromones. All Vampyres have them, but not all of them act the same.”
“They say?”
“Yes.”
“What do you say?” I asked softly.
At my gentle prodding, Felix looked around us as if noticing our surroundings for the first time since we stepped out of the stairwell. We were on ground level, the main floor of JYP Entertainment. People in business attire wove their way through the hall and around us, but none of them were paying us much mind outside of a quizzical glance or two before disappearing down side halls or into unmarked rooms. They all seemed unremarkable: humans going about their business in low level positions within the company.
“I say the Association says a lot, and I’m still trying to figure out what’s true,” Felix whispered. It was such a low sound, that I wouldn’t have been able to hear it had I been human.
“Is that thing you do with your voice an Aura?” I asked, just as quietly.
“And touch, yes.”
“What about Minho being able to make me leave?”
“No.”
“What is it, then?” My palms were starting to sweat, as my mind raced. Our conversation was spoken in soft, hushed tones that no one would be able to hear unless they too possessed the enhanced senses of a Vampyre. Our body language was relaxed, giving the image of two friends simply having a casual albeit quiet word. It was a facade, as so many things in JYP were.
“Something different: natural, but twisted. A manipulated fate.”
I wanted to break the facade. I wanted to scream. Felix had given me more than anyone else had designed to, but it was confusing and vague.
Nature implied that something was inherently a part of the natural world. It was something that had been, and always would be. It was understandable, a product of biology and evolution that could be broken down into reason. It was complex, but there was always a cause and causation. It was grounded in reality.
Fate was much more murky. It could not be explained in such concise terms. It was the concept of destiny; something that had to be but had no reason to be. It was not something that could be manipulated, and it was something I had always thought of as hocus pocus. People decided their own destiny without the myth of a guiding hand nudging them down a preset path.
I hadn’t decided to be Marked. I hadn’t made the decision to enter JYP. I didn’t get a choice on who would be my mentor. These had all been factors out of my control: happenstance. It was not a divine act.
I refused to believe that Lee Minho had any role to play in my life outside of being a pain in my ass. He was a pain in my ass who made my blood boil and my emotions explode in uncontrollable fits. He was a pain in my ass who could have me at his beck and call with a simple ‘command.’ He was a pain in my ass, but he was not my fate.
“She's tied to Minho. Nothing is going to change that unless she dies.”
You guys, I am currently in the finalizing stages of the next part of Marked. I figured now would be a good time to open up series specific taglists for those who are interested. I will be doing one for both of my ongoing series: Marked By Him and A Stray Concubine.
If you would like to be tagged for either or both, just let me know in whatever way you see fit. ❤️
Hii! I just saw your post! I personally love when writers I like reading post! Even if it’s weeks apart. As I get a lot of notifications, I sometimes miss posts if i’m not tagged. However, if i did get tagged it shows up in my notification box on tumblr, instead of a normal notification on my phone!
All you could do is write people’s @s onto notes or something and just copy and paste it each time you post! i think that would be the easiest if you were looking at doing one :) Maybe make a post asking if anyone would like to be on one and see if you think it’s worth making one 💓
I hope i explained that well
Thank you!
This is very helpful, and you explained very well. I will likely be making a post for it soon. It sounds like an excellent way to make sure stories are reaching those who are waiting for them. ^^
| Part 1 |
Pairings: Prince!Lee Know/You, Prince!Bangchan/You, RivalNoble!Hyunjin/You? We are all about possibility here.
Summary: Entering into a harem choosing was something you have been groomed for since you were young. Your aim is to make Crown Prince Christopher fall at your heels in order to restore your ruined family name and fortune, but games of love are much harder than games of lies and deceit.
Content: Angst (is it me if it's not?), slow burn, smut(warnings below the cut), fictional historical universe, dark themes, second person perspective, historical-typical gender roles, imperial harem-inspired concubine system, multi-pov
WC: 5119
Minors do not interact. Do not repost my content to other websites.
Notes: I'm back to writing again, keyboard slappin' again. Also, I am having trouble figuring out a way to format POV shifts on tumblr that is clean but not intrusive. I am open to suggestions.
Smut Warnings: very brief/very vanilla smut, sex with a stranger, no strings, mentions/illusions of oral, smut is not between leads of the story?(idk, I think some of you might be peeved by that. We do it for the plot.)
You
Powerful was a word that most would not place on a woman.
Women were meant to be demure and delicate. They were meant to rear children and attend to household affairs as their husbands brought in income and fought in wars where there would be no true victors. It was not a woman's place to meddle in affairs of politics and governance outside of securing marriage alliances for unwanted daughters to bring extra wealth and prestige to the family name. That is simply how the world worked.
You never questioned it in your childhood. You wore the pretty, colorful silks. You learned to speak eloquently but never out of turn. You played instruments and studied embroidery and other womanly arts. You were exactly what society dictated you be: a pretty face being prepared to be sold off for the honor of your family name.
It was a single, fateful trip to the capital with your mother and father that had changed not only your perspective but the entire course of your life. Your family name was tarnished and your father was executed by the ruling Bang family for murder and treason. The only thing that had saved you and your mother was the grace of the sex you had been born with and her tears and pleas for mercy. Even as she cried and begged in front of His Majesty, the truths you had known crumbled to dust.
Your father had been a puzzle piece in a generations long game of chess where the kings and queens played with the lives of others to gain power of their own. He had been a disposable pawn, easily lost to the ages as a traitor whom there would be no songs written about. Everyone knew it, and it didn't take long for you to realize it for yourself. You, even at a young age, looked beyond your mother's pretty tears and prettier words.
You knew Princess Mai was set to wed the young lord Hwang.
The Hwangs were a powerful family - rivaling your own in terms of wealth and influence. Hwang Hyunjin was the sole heir to his family's fortunes. A marriage alliance with Princess Mai would tip the precarious balance of power to favor the Hwangs more greatly. It would have been a match that would have been detrimental to your own family's power.
You knew all of this. You also knew the vial of dark purple liquid your mother had hidden under the flowing sleeve of her gown was not nail polish as she had told you. You had watched keenly as she had slipped the liquid into Princess Mai’s goblet as you all supped with the Queen without anyone else the wiser. Your mother's poison had killed the young princess before the physicians could even get through the door. As Queen Bang had cried and screamed for the loss of her child, your mother had secretly smiled.
She had ruined the Hwang’s grab for more power and gotten rid of a Bang daughter in one fell swoop. She was the chess master, and she had outmaneuvered them all with a pretty face and a pretty smile. You don't know if she foresaw any of the consequences of her actions: the execution of her husband, the ruin of the family businesses, and the loss of your family's prestige.
Your mother had broken the mold. She had held your father under a spell with her looks alone. His station allowed him to take other wives if he chose, but he never did. He allowed her the freedom that many women would never get to taste in this lifetime, and she took it with greed and left him in a grave of her making.
“Was the power worth it, Mother?” You asked the carriage window that tottered down the street.
Through the pristine glass, the lush landscape was ruined by the image of heavily armed men on horseback. They wore the colors and heraldry of the Bangs, and they patrolled the road to the palace with keen eyes and sharp blades. Their numbers were more than usual as they surveyed the throng of carriages and ladies on horseback that made the journey in an unlikely parade.
The Selection was the only time that the Kingdom of Miroh would see such an odd assortment of women making their way to the Palace of Kings. It was a rare event, only happening when the Royal family required more women to act as concubines and maids. The needs of the Palace had nobles and commoners alike sending their daughters off for the possibilities of fame and fortune.
Serving the royals as a maid was an honor that most of the peasantry could only dream of, but even nobles would be pleased if one of their younger daughters could secure a spot in the Royal household. It would ensure that they were at least in the line of sight of the many princes, and the maid staff were compensated fairly for their time along with accommodations and food provided for them. There were certainly worse places for a woman to find herself.
You, however, were not sent by your mother with such plebeian goals.
It was not comfort you sought, nor was it the possibility of an affair with the princes. You were to aim higher. You were to become one of the women that history scorned for reaching beyond her station.
Your aim was to ensure that you became Prince Bang's Most Favored. Your mother would accept no less. She wanted the favor, the prestige and wealth that would come along with your rise. It had always been her goal, and it had been fed to you for so long that you weren't even sure how much of it was your own desire over her influence.
Did you want that level of power?
Did you even care to join the Royal family in such a fashion?
Would you ever even come to care for Prince Bang as more than a chess piece on your own board?
These were questions that you could not answer. You often thought of being a young girl again - ignorant to the world and the affairs of adults. You liked your pretty dresses. You loved running through your family's well maintained gardens with your favored hunting hound on your heels. You loved scrubbing paint off your arms and being scolded by your governess for ruining good gowns after a day of painting lessons. You were innocent then, but that was certainly no longer the case.
The frivolities of childhood had to be left behind. You were an adult, and you knew more of the world than you cared to. You knew that as a gently bred woman, you would never be more than a broodmare for a rich and powerful man unless you took charge like your mother had so many times before. The consequences could be grave; you could lose your head if you weren't careful, but great queens had never become so by following the status quo.
As you toiled with emotions far beyond your depth, the King's Gate shadowed your carriage eerily. It was an original part of the palace’s structure, built so solidly that the centuries had done minimal damage to its intricate design. It towered over the road, blocking out the sun with marbled walls inlaid with precious metals and jewels. It was meant to intimidate, and belittle. It was meant to make everyone passing in its shadows feel weak and small in comparison to the glory of the Royal Family. It opened seldomly, and only for whatever family sat the throne at the time.
Its momentous shadow lasted for what felt like an eternity as the line of carriages trudged along the walls of the palace to a more appropriate entrance for those not of royal blood. You and the other women arriving for the selection were being directed to the same gate used for supply carriages and merchants. It was yet another mind game: being delivered like fine cattle to await the murderous whims of a king. It was a way to ensure all women of the selection knew their place - but you saw things through the lens of your mother.
The Gate of Kings was the first thing all arrivals to the palace would see by design, but it would never open for them. Instead of intimidation, you saw a challenge to inflame and inspire your heart. You would enter through the Merchant's Gate, but you knew that the Gate of Kings would open for you one day. It was all a matter of what you had to do to make it happen - consequences be damned.
Prince Minho
Head held high. Feet light and delicate. Body slim and lithe. Features sharp and regal despite station. Gown loose and flowing in bright, ostentatious colors.
She could be a candidate, Lee Minho thought to himself as he watched the dancers practice.
The brightly colored fabric of her gown rode up her ankles as she moved, offering the briefest flash of a pale and delicate ankle. It was inappropriate – bordering on scandalous. Had it been even a decade prior, she might have been imprisoned for her lewdness but times were changing. It was a fact of life as set in stone as the changing of seasons: people evolved and people learned.
Minho liked that concept. He liked the ideas of society shifting and expanding. He liked the change of pace from the monotony, but what he liked even more was the prospect of those daring enough to enact that change. It took an uncommon spirit to go against the masses – to challenge the very knowledge that civilized society was built on.
As if reading his thoughts, the dancer’s eyes found his and held them. Her's were not the wide eyes of an innocent maid. They were heavily lidded, seductive in their intent.
It was another act of impudence, a daring so strong she probably would be locked in a labor camp if his father witnessed the scene. A woman so open in her sexuality was a threat to the masculinity of the insecure men around her who grasped at whatever shred of power they thought was within their reach. She would be scorned – likely punished by her closest male relative had she acted so with any other man.
Lee Minho was certainly not just any man off the streets of Miroh. He was so much more, and arguably so much worse. A Prince of Miroh could easily have her pretty head taken off for such an insignificant slight against social norms. He hated himself for even thinking about it, but he did. He hated himself even as the dance practice came to a natural end and the dancer approached him carelessly.
It was a silent exchange – not a single word passing her rouged lips as he took her slim hand in his and led her from the banquet hall. He knew what she wanted. It's what they all wanted. Motivations differed, but the methods never changed. A fun time with a Prince of one of the most powerful nations in the world. He was never one to reject the advances, never had been.
Lee Minho was many things. He was a Second Prince of Miroh. He was the son of the most powerful man in the kingdom. He was the younger brother of the Crown Prince. He was an intellectual, a graceful fencer, and the official Spare of the Bang family. These were all monikers and titles the public used to describe him, but behind closed doors they sang a different tune.
He was the shame of the Royal family. He favored arts over swordsmanship. He was an alcoholic who frequented ill reputed pubs and discussed philosophy over ale with criminal scholars. He was a rake who lived at brothels and slept with low class whores. They talked as if they knew him. They spoke as if he sat at their tables and discussed with him personally over hot tea – but they had no idea.
They knew nothing of the self hatred that coursed through his veins. They knew nothing of the helplessness he felt due to his station. They would never understand the uncontrollable guilt that never failed to find him.
He was a Prince. He held all the power in the world but that power was wrapped up and presented to him with strings attached ever since he came into the world. He could drink, he could talk and he could sleep his way through the entirety of Miroh but that was as far as his freedom extended. The second he even stepped over the invisible line of what was acceptable, everything could be taken away.
The change he wanted was within his reach – a delicate treasure that would be so easy to share. Reaching up to break it free for the rest of the world would spell the end of everything he had, but he was not brave enough. He was a coward – a coward hiding behind fancy words and under the colorful skirts of women far more courageous than he.
His frustrations often manifested in indulgence in the freedoms he was allowed. He would drink, he would dine, and he would fuck in a vain attempt to fill the deepest pits of his tarnished soul. He never wanted it. He had wanted to change it, but his own desires had twisted him. He became the very thing he feared: a powerful man taking advantage of the luxuries given to him without giving anything in return.
The dancer’s back was pressed against a thin wooden door. Her lithe legs had wrapped around him of their own accord and her hands were threading into his hair and the fabric of his shirt – pulling him deeper into a brief moment where he was not a Prince. He was a normal man without a moral compass, enjoying the pleasures of a woman's body.
There was no foreplay – no kissing or passionate words. He didn't even get her name before he was pushing her skirts up and sinking his sheathed cock into her cunt. It was not an act of love. It was the act of a desperate fool seeking to forget the world around him.
And he took. He took the brief reprieve with abandon. The door shook dangerously behind her. Her nails raked him though his shirt hard enough to leave marks. Her moans and whines intermingled with his hushed pants to fill his ears with sensual distraction as her walls squeezed him.
It was over too fast. The sounds, smells, and feelings of arousal tapering until all that was left was grim reality. Post orgasm clarity was never a good moment sober. Words failed him, and all the truths he ran from distracted him from the beautiful woman who had originally caught his eye.
“Talia,” she spoke as she adjusted her skirts.
“Excuse me?” He questioned dumbly. He had put space between them, giving himself a moment of reprieve and allowing her a moment to collect herself.
“My name: Talia,” she repeated.
“You're telling me now?” He asked in mild amusement.
“Figured you might want to know who just made you cum,” she shrugged nonchalantly.
“Is that any way for a lady to speak?” he asked at her audacity. It was brazen and crass, but he was far from mad about it. Her words had his cock twitching in his pants again.
“M’no Lady. You know as well as me that I'm not gentleborn.”
“Since we're being so frank, relieve me of my curiosity,” he said as he propped himself against an abandoned and dusty desk against the wall opposite of her. He regarded her levelly, but with the easy charisma that he was often praised for.
“Anything for Second Prince Bang,” she mocked with a quirk of her brows. She never shied away from his stare, never let herself be subdued by the power his titles held. He liked that – a lot.
“I figured you knew.” He was not surprised in the slightest. His portraits were few and far in between, but it was highly likely the palace staff had informed the dancers one of the princes was watching in on their practice. She made no comment of guilt, so he continued, “What did you want from this entanglement?”
“Other than being able to brag that I fucked a Prince?” She laughed. It was not a malicious laugh, but a genuine one. She also found their exchange amusing.
“Are you going to join my fanclub?”
“I'll be the leader.”
At her remark, he laughed. It was an honest laugh, one that had him feeling light and free. It was an uncommon feeling for him, one only his brothers had managed to make him feel. He liked this girl, but that's all he ever could do was like her. He was under no illusions that this was just an exchange of banter. She was a passing moment in his life, not a permanent fixture.
“Were you that pleased?” He asked with a spark in his gut. He made to move from the desk, but she put her hands up in surrender.
“So pleased, I fear another round would have me fainting.” She let out a sigh as she fanned herself in exaggeration before letting out a snort of derision. “Isn't that what the gentleladies say when their ladybits can't take it anymore?”
“Even noblewomen like to dabble in the fine art of overstimulation,” he smirked back.
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Are you avoiding my question?”
“I would never dare,” she hummed with a twinkle showing in her eyes. It was teasing – daring on its own.
“Then answer.”
“Is that a command, Your Highness?”
“Would you obey if it were?”
His question had her approaching him, a smirk that mirrored his own pulling at her painted lips as the gauzy material of her dress flowed around her slim figure enticingly. When she was directly in front of him, close enough that he could feel her breath against his skin, she sank to her knees before him. Her hands deftly handled the ties of his trousers to pull them down enough to free him.
“If the Prince commands, I will serve.” Her mouth, hot and wanting, was on him before he could even think of a witty response.
Prince Christopher
As heir apparent of a nation, Christopher Bang was not unaccustomed to worry. He worried about the coming winter and if the provinces had prepared their food stores accordingly. The winters in Miroh could be harsh– deadly even. If the cold didn’t kill the populace, hunger was a certain second contender. If he could help alleviate that in any way: he would. It was his birthright and his duty, and he was nothing if not a man of his station.
Any indication of increasing hostilities in the Borderlands would have him holed up in his personal offices for weeks on end. He would analyze patterns. He would discern strategies. He would rethink choices in generals. He would make plans to advocate for peace treaties with the neighboring territories. WIthout fail, his efforts would be rebuked by the King and the conflicts would continue unchecked. He never stopped trying.
The conflicts never turned to all out war. They were simply petty squabbles with centuries long history over dejure land rights. It was almost ingrained as tradition– sons carrying out the same trite battles as a matter of pride over any true cause. Ofcourse, it wasn’t the Kings or Princes that suffered.
It was the common soldiers with wives and children waiting for their safe return. It was the fishermen who watched warily as flagships came to shore. It was the farmers who worked full days for a meager loaf of bread only to watch their livelihoods be put to the torch in a war they never asked for. It was average people who held no stake nor say in the matters of governance or state. It didn’t matter to them who held the territories they called home. Their lot would stay the same regardless of which Lords called themselves King, but the battles for that title hurt them more than anyone else.
Christopher knew that. He wanted to change it. He wanted to right historical wrongs and be the King his people needed. Alas, he couldn't. All he could do was worry.
It wasn't even just grand matters of state that occupied his mind. Smaller, more personal affairs piled on his already overloaded platter of responsibilities. He was the eldest of his family's sons – even in the circles of peasantry that came with its own responsibility. He had to look out for his younger siblings. He had to ensure they played their parts as royal children and kept the family name clean and as prestigious as ever. Some of his brothers made it harder than others.
Changbin had taken his duties easily as had their younger brothers: Seungmin and Jeongin. They knew their stations and how to conform within the standards that befit them. Felix and Jisung tried, but they were more empathetic. They struggled with their places on the world stage– questioning the morality of their way of life and the responsibilities they held. It wasn't a negative thing, and Christopher could not fault them for it. It was a natural part of being human.
In his youth, it wasn't at all uncommon for his studies and training as heir to lead him down a spiral of questions. He was one of the most powerful men in the world thanks to nothing other than being born a son of the Bang Family. He could make people tremble in fear if he so much as looked at them with ill intent. He held the power of life and death in his hands. How could that possibly be fair? How could he live knowing that he had everything while others had nothing? He was as well aware of the moral quandaries as Jisung and Felix. He would not fault them for floundering – he could not.
The hardest thing – he had learned – was having all the power in the world and still trying to be a decent human.
The duties and power of royalty were a loaded hand cannon given at whim by an unfair creator. Some men would tremble at the burden, and lay it down without problem. Some would take the power to head and heart, and become a terrible beast whose machinations could ruin entire realms with a single shot. Others – a very rare few – had the sense and sensibility to know not only how to shoot, but how to aim.
It was Christopher’s only hope that he ended up in the history books as one of the latter. He would be a good king when the time came. He would care for his people and not let the burden of rule turn him hard and corrupt. He would be the role model his brothers needed.
But these were simply hopes and dreams. In reality, he was simply one Prince amongst many others. His father still held the crown of governance, and he answered to the King as well as anyone else.
“You can not simply force him!” Beauty Lee cried out with as much emotion as Christopher had ever seen her express. She was usually so calm, and collected. She was a Beauty of the King’s Harem, but he had learned far too early that even his father could break the cool facade of the Palace women with little effort.
“And what's to stop me, Woman?” King Bang grunted back with a bite. His voice was not to be forgotten. It was distinct in its unyielding harshness, and it suited his appearance just as well.
He was a hardened man – a King but a true warrior at heart. He was graying and wrinkling in age, but he was still considered a handsome – even fearsome – man. Under the wrinkles covering his face and hands were scars from battle. He had seen war, but his age and dress showed he also knew luxury in equal measure.
“He is your son! You must have an ounce of compassion for your own blood!” Beauty Lee protested.
“Compassion? Is compassion what he needs, now?” The words were not spoken, but spat in frustration. It was a testament to Beauty Lee’s determination that she did not shirk away from the words. “I'd rather a firm beating to undo all the years of coddling you've put the boy through.”
“Is a mother's love coddling? I shall not deny he is flawed. Heaven knows we all are, but he's grown into a good man with a good heart!” Her voice was calmer, but still burning with resolve.
The feeling of dread that had been slowly rising in Christopher’s chest engulfed him until he felt bile rising in the back of throat. He knew he had not been summoned to the King’s receiving chambers to simply witness a lover’s quarrel. They were speaking of Second Prince Minho - Beauty Lee’s only son and the Second of the Bang Sons.
Minho wasn’t like his other brothers. He had always been incredibly brave even if outlandish. He broke tradition: galavanting across the world with intellectuals, keeping the company of whores and artists, and never accepting his duties as a Prince of the Royal Family. He had always done what he wanted, and Christopher admired him for it even if it stressed him out to his wits end.
“A heart our enemies would tear out of his chest and eat for protein. He is soft. Sometimes I question whether he is even my son,” King Bang said viciously. It was a tone that could cut down enemies. I was not a tone to take with a gentlewoman, especially not regarding your own blood.
“You– you can't say such things! He is your true son! I swear it,” Beauty Lee prostrated.
“Ah, bugger off woman! If I had any true suspicions you would be dead and he would be left to rot in a cell.”
“Please, Your Highness. Minho admires you so much, he just needs time.”
“Time? Had I known you and your welp would be so resource intensive, I would have left you both in the whore house you came from.” King Bang said it as if he were discussing the menu for the upcoming festivities. It was as casual a threat as could be delivered, but it was a threat.
“Plea–”
“Save your whimpering. There will be no further discussion. Minho will cease his fruitless adventures and settle down here in the palace with a harem befitting his station – or he will be sent to the Borderlands indefinitely.”
“You would send your own son to die in such a way?” Beauty Lee cried. As if suddenly realizing he was present, her wild eyes fell on Christopher. Before he could even register what was happening, she was tugging the sleeve of his shirt in desperation. “My Prince! He is your brother! Minho will die in the Borderlands! You know it.”
“Unhand the Crown Prince, Woman! I have taken heads for less!” King Bang roared amongst her pleas for mercy.
It was moments like this that Christopher liked to pretend. He was not simply Prince Christopher: he was King Christopher. He held the power. He would never let Beauty Lee be in such distress and he would be content to let Minho live as he saw fit, but those were still dreams. He was but a Prince, and Minho was too. If they wanted to survive for a future, they all had their parts to play. He could not pretend: he had to take action.
“Father,” Christopher spoke up as Beauty Lee clung to him. “I will take responsibility.”
“For Minho?” King Bang questioned with narrowed eyes. He was always suspicious– always seeing a play even if there was none, and truly Christopher didn’t have one.
“Yes. I will ensure he settles down into Court Life,” Christopher assured his dad and the bleary-eyed Beauty. She blinked up at him with hope, and even fondness. She always had been kind to him and his brothers. She would sneak them sweets when they were young and practiced at swords and the King forbade it. She was a kind woman – maybe too kind for the world she had been adopted into. “I will make sure he accepts it, and adjusts appropriately.”
“Sometimes, I fear I have raised no sons, but seven bleeding hearts instead,” King Bang sighed. He contemplated for a moment, his eyes flashing between his concubine and his heir with laser focus. If he were looking for something, he seemed to be content with what he found. “I will let you.”
“Oh, Your Majesty. I will be forever grateful. You are good, and just!” Beauty Lee cried as she dropped Christopher’s arm only to bow as low as possible at the foot of the King’s ornate desk chair he occupied.
“Save your words,” he commanded her. Her words stopped at once at his admonishment. “If Christopher should fail to tame my most wayward son, it will be a statement of his right to rule.”
As he spoke, he stared right into the eyes of Chrisopher.
The young prince was not surprised. He had spent his entire life jumping through hoops to earn not only his crown, but even a shred of affection from the larger than life figure that he shared blood with. His aptitude had never failed him, but he would never feel safe relying on his father’s love for anything in his life.
“If I cannot trust my heir to command his own blood, how can I trust him to command the people of an entire kingdom?” the King added. He let the threat hang in the air before turning his attention back to the sniveling Beauty at his feet. “In other words, if he fails: you will ruin two of my sons.”
It was another threat meant for the woman who had borne him a child.
She was one of his longest lasting concubines. It was rumored that Beauty Lee was the one woman of the harem that held any love from the King, and she had suffered for it. She had been scorned and bullied by the other women of the King’s harem. She had been attacked in countless games of court intrigue. She had outlasted all the attempts to have her ousted from the court and from his favor.
Christopher could only wonder: how would she survive the biggest threat of them all?
oh, god, this is actually so good? like I started reading this very late last night so I had to stop at some point but it’s so well written, and shows how well planned this story is.. wow, I just want to see how the his is gonna unfold from now on, I imagine that there’s some love triangle depicted here? I could only imagine.. this is so good, if you have some kind of taglist I wanna be part of it. This is just so intriguing and interesting.
This is incredibly lovely and was probably the highlight of my day! I am so happy you have enjoyed what's posted so far. I do have some very devious plans for all three of our main characters, including a love triangle. A lovely user has given me some advice on making a tag list, so I will be making one soon -- for Marked By Him as well.
Pls update the Marked by Him series. I’ve been waiting weeks now and it’s so good!!
Thank you, anon! I love hearing that you guys like what I write!
It has been a while since I've updated, but I will say this exactly the reason I will never make promises on when I will be posting updates for stories. Life gets in the way, and I just never know. I promise I will not forget about the story, however.
hey just wondering if you’re doing a tag list, could you tag me when you update the vampire lee know ff! <3
I don't have a taglist. I'm honestly not sure of the logistics to having/using one. I feel like I update so infrequently that it is probably a good idea to have, so if you or someone could explain I would be more than happy to make one!
I am glad you're enjoying Marked, though! It's been so fun to write, and an update should be coming!
| Part 1 |
Pairings: Prince!Lee Know/You, Prince!Bangchan/You, RivalNoble!Hyunjin/You? We are all about possibility here.
Summary: Entering into a harem choosing was something you have been groomed for since you were young. Your aim is to make Crown Prince Christopher fall at your heels in order to restore your ruined family name and fortune, but games of love are much harder than games of lies and deceit.
Content: Angst (is it me if it's not?), slow burn, smut(warnings below the cut), fictional historical universe, dark themes, second person perspective, historical-typical gender roles, imperial harem-inspired concubine system, multi-pov
WC: 5119
Minors do not interact. Do not repost my content to other websites.
Notes: I'm back to writing again, keyboard slappin' again. Also, I am having trouble figuring out a way to format POV shifts on tumblr that is clean but not intrusive. I am open to suggestions.
Smut Warnings: very brief/very vanilla smut, sex with a stranger, no strings, mentions/illusions of oral, smut is not between leads of the story?(idk, I think some of you might be peeved by that. We do it for the plot.)
You
Powerful was a word that most would not place on a woman.
Women were meant to be demure and delicate. They were meant to rear children and attend to household affairs as their husbands brought in income and fought in wars where there would be no true victors. It was not a woman's place to meddle in affairs of politics and governance outside of securing marriage alliances for unwanted daughters to bring extra wealth and prestige to the family name. That is simply how the world worked.
You never questioned it in your childhood. You wore the pretty, colorful silks. You learned to speak eloquently but never out of turn. You played instruments and studied embroidery and other womanly arts. You were exactly what society dictated you be: a pretty face being prepared to be sold off for the honor of your family name.
It was a single, fateful trip to the capital with your mother and father that had changed not only your perspective but the entire course of your life. Your family name was tarnished and your father was executed by the ruling Bang family for murder and treason. The only thing that had saved you and your mother was the grace of the sex you had been born with and her tears and pleas for mercy. Even as she cried and begged in front of His Majesty, the truths you had known crumbled to dust.
Your father had been a puzzle piece in a generations long game of chess where the kings and queens played with the lives of others to gain power of their own. He had been a disposable pawn, easily lost to the ages as a traitor whom there would be no songs written about. Everyone knew it, and it didn't take long for you to realize it for yourself. You, even at a young age, looked beyond your mother's pretty tears and prettier words.
You knew Princess Mai was set to wed the young lord Hwang.
The Hwangs were a powerful family - rivaling your own in terms of wealth and influence. Hwang Hyunjin was the sole heir to his family's fortunes. A marriage alliance with Princess Mai would tip the precarious balance of power to favor the Hwangs more greatly. It would have been a match that would have been detrimental to your own family's power.
You knew all of this. You also knew the vial of dark purple liquid your mother had hidden under the flowing sleeve of her gown was not nail polish as she had told you. You had watched keenly as she had slipped the liquid into Princess Mai’s goblet as you all supped with the Queen without anyone else the wiser. Your mother's poison had killed the young princess before the physicians could even get through the door. As Queen Bang had cried and screamed for the loss of her child, your mother had secretly smiled.
She had ruined the Hwang’s grab for more power and gotten rid of a Bang daughter in one fell swoop. She was the chess master, and she had outmaneuvered them all with a pretty face and a pretty smile. You don't know if she foresaw any of the consequences of her actions: the execution of her husband, the ruin of the family businesses, and the loss of your family's prestige.
Your mother had broken the mold. She had held your father under a spell with her looks alone. His station allowed him to take other wives if he chose, but he never did. He allowed her the freedom that many women would never get to taste in this lifetime, and she took it with greed and left him in a grave of her making.
“Was the power worth it, Mother?” You asked the carriage window that tottered down the street.
Through the pristine glass, the lush landscape was ruined by the image of heavily armed men on horseback. They wore the colors and heraldry of the Bangs, and they patrolled the road to the palace with keen eyes and sharp blades. Their numbers were more than usual as they surveyed the throng of carriages and ladies on horseback that made the journey in an unlikely parade.
The Selection was the only time that the Kingdom of Miroh would see such an odd assortment of women making their way to the Palace of Kings. It was a rare event, only happening when the Royal family required more women to act as concubines and maids. The needs of the Palace had nobles and commoners alike sending their daughters off for the possibilities of fame and fortune.
Serving the royals as a maid was an honor that most of the peasantry could only dream of, but even nobles would be pleased if one of their younger daughters could secure a spot in the Royal household. It would ensure that they were at least in the line of sight of the many princes, and the maid staff were compensated fairly for their time along with accommodations and food provided for them. There were certainly worse places for a woman to find herself.
You, however, were not sent by your mother with such plebeian goals.
It was not comfort you sought, nor was it the possibility of an affair with the princes. You were to aim higher. You were to become one of the women that history scorned for reaching beyond her station.
Your aim was to ensure that you became Prince Bang's Most Favored. Your mother would accept no less. She wanted the favor, the prestige and wealth that would come along with your rise. It had always been her goal, and it had been fed to you for so long that you weren't even sure how much of it was your own desire over her influence.
Did you want that level of power?
Did you even care to join the Royal family in such a fashion?
Would you ever even come to care for Prince Bang as more than a chess piece on your own board?
These were questions that you could not answer. You often thought of being a young girl again - ignorant to the world and the affairs of adults. You liked your pretty dresses. You loved running through your family's well maintained gardens with your favored hunting hound on your heels. You loved scrubbing paint off your arms and being scolded by your governess for ruining good gowns after a day of painting lessons. You were innocent then, but that was certainly no longer the case.
The frivolities of childhood had to be left behind. You were an adult, and you knew more of the world than you cared to. You knew that as a gently bred woman, you would never be more than a broodmare for a rich and powerful man unless you took charge like your mother had so many times before. The consequences could be grave; you could lose your head if you weren't careful, but great queens had never become so by following the status quo.
As you toiled with emotions far beyond your depth, the King's Gate shadowed your carriage eerily. It was an original part of the palace’s structure, built so solidly that the centuries had done minimal damage to its intricate design. It towered over the road, blocking out the sun with marbled walls inlaid with precious metals and jewels. It was meant to intimidate, and belittle. It was meant to make everyone passing in its shadows feel weak and small in comparison to the glory of the Royal Family. It opened seldomly, and only for whatever family sat the throne at the time.
Its momentous shadow lasted for what felt like an eternity as the line of carriages trudged along the walls of the palace to a more appropriate entrance for those not of royal blood. You and the other women arriving for the selection were being directed to the same gate used for supply carriages and merchants. It was yet another mind game: being delivered like fine cattle to await the murderous whims of a king. It was a way to ensure all women of the selection knew their place - but you saw things through the lens of your mother.
The Gate of Kings was the first thing all arrivals to the palace would see by design, but it would never open for them. Instead of intimidation, you saw a challenge to inflame and inspire your heart. You would enter through the Merchant's Gate, but you knew that the Gate of Kings would open for you one day. It was all a matter of what you had to do to make it happen - consequences be damned.
Prince Minho
Head held high. Feet light and delicate. Body slim and lithe. Features sharp and regal despite station. Gown loose and flowing in bright, ostentatious colors.
She could be a candidate, Lee Minho thought to himself as he watched the dancers practice.
The brightly colored fabric of her gown rode up her ankles as she moved, offering the briefest flash of a pale and delicate ankle. It was inappropriate – bordering on scandalous. Had it been even a decade prior, she might have been imprisoned for her lewdness but times were changing. It was a fact of life as set in stone as the changing of seasons: people evolved and people learned.
Minho liked that concept. He liked the ideas of society shifting and expanding. He liked the change of pace from the monotony, but what he liked even more was the prospect of those daring enough to enact that change. It took an uncommon spirit to go against the masses – to challenge the very knowledge that civilized society was built on.
As if reading his thoughts, the dancer’s eyes found his and held them. Her's were not the wide eyes of an innocent maid. They were heavily lidded, seductive in their intent.
It was another act of impudence, a daring so strong she probably would be locked in a labor camp if his father witnessed the scene. A woman so open in her sexuality was a threat to the masculinity of the insecure men around her who grasped at whatever shred of power they thought was within their reach. She would be scorned – likely punished by her closest male relative had she acted so with any other man.
Lee Minho was certainly not just any man off the streets of Miroh. He was so much more, and arguably so much worse. A Prince of Miroh could easily have her pretty head taken off for such an insignificant slight against social norms. He hated himself for even thinking about it, but he did. He hated himself even as the dance practice came to a natural end and the dancer approached him carelessly.
It was a silent exchange – not a single word passing her rouged lips as he took her slim hand in his and led her from the banquet hall. He knew what she wanted. It's what they all wanted. Motivations differed, but the methods never changed. A fun time with a Prince of one of the most powerful nations in the world. He was never one to reject the advances, never had been.
Lee Minho was many things. He was a Second Prince of Miroh. He was the son of the most powerful man in the kingdom. He was the younger brother of the Crown Prince. He was an intellectual, a graceful fencer, and the official Spare of the Bang family. These were all monikers and titles the public used to describe him, but behind closed doors they sang a different tune.
He was the shame of the Royal family. He favored arts over swordsmanship. He was an alcoholic who frequented ill reputed pubs and discussed philosophy over ale with criminal scholars. He was a rake who lived at brothels and slept with low class whores. They talked as if they knew him. They spoke as if he sat at their tables and discussed with him personally over hot tea – but they had no idea.
They knew nothing of the self hatred that coursed through his veins. They knew nothing of the helplessness he felt due to his station. They would never understand the uncontrollable guilt that never failed to find him.
He was a Prince. He held all the power in the world but that power was wrapped up and presented to him with strings attached ever since he came into the world. He could drink, he could talk and he could sleep his way through the entirety of Miroh but that was as far as his freedom extended. The second he even stepped over the invisible line of what was acceptable, everything could be taken away.
The change he wanted was within his reach – a delicate treasure that would be so easy to share. Reaching up to break it free for the rest of the world would spell the end of everything he had, but he was not brave enough. He was a coward – a coward hiding behind fancy words and under the colorful skirts of women far more courageous than he.
His frustrations often manifested in indulgence in the freedoms he was allowed. He would drink, he would dine, and he would fuck in a vain attempt to fill the deepest pits of his tarnished soul. He never wanted it. He had wanted to change it, but his own desires had twisted him. He became the very thing he feared: a powerful man taking advantage of the luxuries given to him without giving anything in return.
The dancer’s back was pressed against a thin wooden door. Her lithe legs had wrapped around him of their own accord and her hands were threading into his hair and the fabric of his shirt – pulling him deeper into a brief moment where he was not a Prince. He was a normal man without a moral compass, enjoying the pleasures of a woman's body.
There was no foreplay – no kissing or passionate words. He didn't even get her name before he was pushing her skirts up and sinking his sheathed cock into her cunt. It was not an act of love. It was the act of a desperate fool seeking to forget the world around him.
And he took. He took the brief reprieve with abandon. The door shook dangerously behind her. Her nails raked him though his shirt hard enough to leave marks. Her moans and whines intermingled with his hushed pants to fill his ears with sensual distraction as her walls squeezed him.
It was over too fast. The sounds, smells, and feelings of arousal tapering until all that was left was grim reality. Post orgasm clarity was never a good moment sober. Words failed him, and all the truths he ran from distracted him from the beautiful woman who had originally caught his eye.
“Talia,” she spoke as she adjusted her skirts.
“Excuse me?” He questioned dumbly. He had put space between them, giving himself a moment of reprieve and allowing her a moment to collect herself.
“My name: Talia,” she repeated.
“You're telling me now?” He asked in mild amusement.
“Figured you might want to know who just made you cum,” she shrugged nonchalantly.
“Is that any way for a lady to speak?” he asked at her audacity. It was brazen and crass, but he was far from mad about it. Her words had his cock twitching in his pants again.
“M’no Lady. You know as well as me that I'm not gentleborn.”
“Since we're being so frank, relieve me of my curiosity,” he said as he propped himself against an abandoned and dusty desk against the wall opposite of her. He regarded her levelly, but with the easy charisma that he was often praised for.
“Anything for Second Prince Bang,” she mocked with a quirk of her brows. She never shied away from his stare, never let herself be subdued by the power his titles held. He liked that – a lot.
“I figured you knew.” He was not surprised in the slightest. His portraits were few and far in between, but it was highly likely the palace staff had informed the dancers one of the princes was watching in on their practice. She made no comment of guilt, so he continued, “What did you want from this entanglement?”
“Other than being able to brag that I fucked a Prince?” She laughed. It was not a malicious laugh, but a genuine one. She also found their exchange amusing.
“Are you going to join my fanclub?”
“I'll be the leader.”
At her remark, he laughed. It was an honest laugh, one that had him feeling light and free. It was an uncommon feeling for him, one only his brothers had managed to make him feel. He liked this girl, but that's all he ever could do was like her. He was under no illusions that this was just an exchange of banter. She was a passing moment in his life, not a permanent fixture.
“Were you that pleased?” He asked with a spark in his gut. He made to move from the desk, but she put her hands up in surrender.
“So pleased, I fear another round would have me fainting.” She let out a sigh as she fanned herself in exaggeration before letting out a snort of derision. “Isn't that what the gentleladies say when their ladybits can't take it anymore?”
“Even noblewomen like to dabble in the fine art of overstimulation,” he smirked back.
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Are you avoiding my question?”
“I would never dare,” she hummed with a twinkle showing in her eyes. It was teasing – daring on its own.
“Then answer.”
“Is that a command, Your Highness?”
“Would you obey if it were?”
His question had her approaching him, a smirk that mirrored his own pulling at her painted lips as the gauzy material of her dress flowed around her slim figure enticingly. When she was directly in front of him, close enough that he could feel her breath against his skin, she sank to her knees before him. Her hands deftly handled the ties of his trousers to pull them down enough to free him.
“If the Prince commands, I will serve.” Her mouth, hot and wanting, was on him before he could even think of a witty response.
Prince Christopher
As heir apparent of a nation, Christopher Bang was not unaccustomed to worry. He worried about the coming winter and if the provinces had prepared their food stores accordingly. The winters in Miroh could be harsh– deadly even. If the cold didn’t kill the populace, hunger was a certain second contender. If he could help alleviate that in any way: he would. It was his birthright and his duty, and he was nothing if not a man of his station.
Any indication of increasing hostilities in the Borderlands would have him holed up in his personal offices for weeks on end. He would analyze patterns. He would discern strategies. He would rethink choices in generals. He would make plans to advocate for peace treaties with the neighboring territories. WIthout fail, his efforts would be rebuked by the King and the conflicts would continue unchecked. He never stopped trying.
The conflicts never turned to all out war. They were simply petty squabbles with centuries long history over dejure land rights. It was almost ingrained as tradition– sons carrying out the same trite battles as a matter of pride over any true cause. Ofcourse, it wasn’t the Kings or Princes that suffered.
It was the common soldiers with wives and children waiting for their safe return. It was the fishermen who watched warily as flagships came to shore. It was the farmers who worked full days for a meager loaf of bread only to watch their livelihoods be put to the torch in a war they never asked for. It was average people who held no stake nor say in the matters of governance or state. It didn’t matter to them who held the territories they called home. Their lot would stay the same regardless of which Lords called themselves King, but the battles for that title hurt them more than anyone else.
Christopher knew that. He wanted to change it. He wanted to right historical wrongs and be the King his people needed. Alas, he couldn't. All he could do was worry.
It wasn't even just grand matters of state that occupied his mind. Smaller, more personal affairs piled on his already overloaded platter of responsibilities. He was the eldest of his family's sons – even in the circles of peasantry that came with its own responsibility. He had to look out for his younger siblings. He had to ensure they played their parts as royal children and kept the family name clean and as prestigious as ever. Some of his brothers made it harder than others.
Changbin had taken his duties easily as had their younger brothers: Seungmin and Jeongin. They knew their stations and how to conform within the standards that befit them. Felix and Jisung tried, but they were more empathetic. They struggled with their places on the world stage– questioning the morality of their way of life and the responsibilities they held. It wasn't a negative thing, and Christopher could not fault them for it. It was a natural part of being human.
In his youth, it wasn't at all uncommon for his studies and training as heir to lead him down a spiral of questions. He was one of the most powerful men in the world thanks to nothing other than being born a son of the Bang Family. He could make people tremble in fear if he so much as looked at them with ill intent. He held the power of life and death in his hands. How could that possibly be fair? How could he live knowing that he had everything while others had nothing? He was as well aware of the moral quandaries as Jisung and Felix. He would not fault them for floundering – he could not.
The hardest thing – he had learned – was having all the power in the world and still trying to be a decent human.
The duties and power of royalty were a loaded hand cannon given at whim by an unfair creator. Some men would tremble at the burden, and lay it down without problem. Some would take the power to head and heart, and become a terrible beast whose machinations could ruin entire realms with a single shot. Others – a very rare few – had the sense and sensibility to know not only how to shoot, but how to aim.
It was Christopher’s only hope that he ended up in the history books as one of the latter. He would be a good king when the time came. He would care for his people and not let the burden of rule turn him hard and corrupt. He would be the role model his brothers needed.
But these were simply hopes and dreams. In reality, he was simply one Prince amongst many others. His father still held the crown of governance, and he answered to the King as well as anyone else.
“You can not simply force him!” Beauty Lee cried out with as much emotion as Christopher had ever seen her express. She was usually so calm, and collected. She was a Beauty of the King’s Harem, but he had learned far too early that even his father could break the cool facade of the Palace women with little effort.
“And what's to stop me, Woman?” King Bang grunted back with a bite. His voice was not to be forgotten. It was distinct in its unyielding harshness, and it suited his appearance just as well.
He was a hardened man – a King but a true warrior at heart. He was graying and wrinkling in age, but he was still considered a handsome – even fearsome – man. Under the wrinkles covering his face and hands were scars from battle. He had seen war, but his age and dress showed he also knew luxury in equal measure.
“He is your son! You must have an ounce of compassion for your own blood!” Beauty Lee protested.
“Compassion? Is compassion what he needs, now?” The words were not spoken, but spat in frustration. It was a testament to Beauty Lee’s determination that she did not shirk away from the words. “I'd rather a firm beating to undo all the years of coddling you've put the boy through.”
“Is a mother's love coddling? I shall not deny he is flawed. Heaven knows we all are, but he's grown into a good man with a good heart!” Her voice was calmer, but still burning with resolve.
The feeling of dread that had been slowly rising in Christopher’s chest engulfed him until he felt bile rising in the back of throat. He knew he had not been summoned to the King’s receiving chambers to simply witness a lover’s quarrel. They were speaking of Second Prince Minho - Beauty Lee’s only son and the Second of the Bang Sons.
Minho wasn’t like his other brothers. He had always been incredibly brave even if outlandish. He broke tradition: galavanting across the world with intellectuals, keeping the company of whores and artists, and never accepting his duties as a Prince of the Royal Family. He had always done what he wanted, and Christopher admired him for it even if it stressed him out to his wits end.
“A heart our enemies would tear out of his chest and eat for protein. He is soft. Sometimes I question whether he is even my son,” King Bang said viciously. It was a tone that could cut down enemies. I was not a tone to take with a gentlewoman, especially not regarding your own blood.
“You– you can't say such things! He is your true son! I swear it,” Beauty Lee prostrated.
“Ah, bugger off woman! If I had any true suspicions you would be dead and he would be left to rot in a cell.”
“Please, Your Highness. Minho admires you so much, he just needs time.”
“Time? Had I known you and your welp would be so resource intensive, I would have left you both in the whore house you came from.” King Bang said it as if he were discussing the menu for the upcoming festivities. It was as casual a threat as could be delivered, but it was a threat.
“Plea–”
“Save your whimpering. There will be no further discussion. Minho will cease his fruitless adventures and settle down here in the palace with a harem befitting his station – or he will be sent to the Borderlands indefinitely.”
“You would send your own son to die in such a way?” Beauty Lee cried. As if suddenly realizing he was present, her wild eyes fell on Christopher. Before he could even register what was happening, she was tugging the sleeve of his shirt in desperation. “My Prince! He is your brother! Minho will die in the Borderlands! You know it.”
“Unhand the Crown Prince, Woman! I have taken heads for less!” King Bang roared amongst her pleas for mercy.
It was moments like this that Christopher liked to pretend. He was not simply Prince Christopher: he was King Christopher. He held the power. He would never let Beauty Lee be in such distress and he would be content to let Minho live as he saw fit, but those were still dreams. He was but a Prince, and Minho was too. If they wanted to survive for a future, they all had their parts to play. He could not pretend: he had to take action.
“Father,” Christopher spoke up as Beauty Lee clung to him. “I will take responsibility.”
“For Minho?” King Bang questioned with narrowed eyes. He was always suspicious– always seeing a play even if there was none, and truly Christopher didn’t have one.
“Yes. I will ensure he settles down into Court Life,” Christopher assured his dad and the bleary-eyed Beauty. She blinked up at him with hope, and even fondness. She always had been kind to him and his brothers. She would sneak them sweets when they were young and practiced at swords and the King forbade it. She was a kind woman – maybe too kind for the world she had been adopted into. “I will make sure he accepts it, and adjusts appropriately.”
“Sometimes, I fear I have raised no sons, but seven bleeding hearts instead,” King Bang sighed. He contemplated for a moment, his eyes flashing between his concubine and his heir with laser focus. If he were looking for something, he seemed to be content with what he found. “I will let you.”
“Oh, Your Majesty. I will be forever grateful. You are good, and just!” Beauty Lee cried as she dropped Christopher’s arm only to bow as low as possible at the foot of the King’s ornate desk chair he occupied.
“Save your words,” he commanded her. Her words stopped at once at his admonishment. “If Christopher should fail to tame my most wayward son, it will be a statement of his right to rule.”
As he spoke, he stared right into the eyes of Chrisopher.
The young prince was not surprised. He had spent his entire life jumping through hoops to earn not only his crown, but even a shred of affection from the larger than life figure that he shared blood with. His aptitude had never failed him, but he would never feel safe relying on his father’s love for anything in his life.
“If I cannot trust my heir to command his own blood, how can I trust him to command the people of an entire kingdom?” the King added. He let the threat hang in the air before turning his attention back to the sniveling Beauty at his feet. “In other words, if he fails: you will ruin two of my sons.”
It was another threat meant for the woman who had borne him a child.
She was one of his longest lasting concubines. It was rumored that Beauty Lee was the one woman of the harem that held any love from the King, and she had suffered for it. She had been scorned and bullied by the other women of the King’s harem. She had been attacked in countless games of court intrigue. She had outlasted all the attempts to have her ousted from the court and from his favor.
Christopher could only wonder: how would she survive the biggest threat of them all?
| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 |
Pairings: Vampire!Lee Know/OC, Vampire!Bangchan/OC (suprise!!!!)
Summary: Vampyres dominate the entertainment world with their otherworldly beauty and talent. It’s a world you must be born into, but a few lucky ones are Marked. Stripped from her home and everything she knows, Minji’s Marking means that she has to rely on the Devil himself, Lee Minho, to be her mentor. He’s cute and sweet to the public, but behind closed doors the monster comes out to play.
Content: Angst, Slow burn, lotsa plot, eventual smut, vampires, dark themes, original characters, first person perspective, general 18+ content, alternate idol universe, asshole Lee Know, surprise love triangle, discussion of blood, discussions of death, depictions of violence, sexual tension, petnames/kitten,
WC: 3164
Minors do not interact. Do not repost my content to other websites, this includes translations.
Notes: Mother, may I trust the government? No. Never. Always question authority.
My heart was set on drastic action. If there was some Earth shattering plot going on with the Association at the detriment of Marks, it would be in my interest in self preservation to jump ship. I had to get out before the ship capsized and the captains revealed themselves and their true colors.
But what was I even running from?
Every person in my life who could help me seemed intent on letting me sink or find out how to swim on my own. Maeri was human. Our conversations consisted of talks about schedules, food, our hometowns, and what idols we hoped to one day interact with. Yoojin was more connected, but she never spoke of the Association. I knew it was a part of the front she put up to protect my feelings, but she never even seemed to take notice I was Marked. I was usually grateful for it, but the only other two people in my life who were connected enough to inform me were brick walls with secrets encased in cement.
My lack of insight was only compounded by facts of science. As a Mark, I was reliant on the same people who seemed to endanger me for survival. Without the contact of a fully fledged Vampyre, I would die.
Ordinary Vampyres existed. They were regular citizens working run-of-the-mill jobs with families and taxes to pay. They rarely advertised that they were Vampyres in the yellow pages. Tracking one down would be a feat of modern communications technology, but getting one to take in stray Mark would be a battle of life and death. It was not plausible, and it was potentially more dangerous than simply accepting my fate at JYP.
Maybe it was the Vampyric hormones running rampant in my system, but the battle of wits and instinct was taking a toll. I didn’t know whether I was scared, sad, or angry. A small part of what rational thought was left told me I was probably overreacting, regardless. The only proof I had of anything was based on my own wild speculation and the cryptic hints of two near strangers. They were beautiful strangers, but strangers still. I didn’t really know them, so why should I trust anything they said when they weren’t even saying much?
My brain was simmering with sudden anger.
Bangchan was forgivable. He owed me nothing. He was not tied to me nor obliged to help me. He was kind, but I had no right to even expect that from him.
Lee Minho was a different beast. I didn’t know how he was assigned to be my Mentor. He could have volunteered or been randomly drafted by the company for all I knew, but it didn’t change the fact that he was my Mentor.
The stupid informational packets the Association handed out to new Marks and their families made Mentors out to be the angelic saviors of poor young adults thrown into an unfamiliar and scary world. They were supposed to be wise leaders who could teach and guide Marks to have a more comfortable adjustment into Vampyrism: the Dumbledores of the Vampyric world. The pamphlets had even stated the bond between Mark and Mentor was something so special that it went beyond the roles of student and teacher. It could even transcend typical human relations such as friendship and family.
Instead of a guiding angel, I had gotten a trickster demon with a penchant for confusion and misery. He had no intention of helping me - he didn’t even seem to care if I lived or died. Thoughts of his apathy spurred my fury. It was a blind rage, but one with intent.
One second I was simmering in anger at the countertop where Bangchan had left me, and the next I was boiling in vitriol at my usual seat in Conference Room Zero. I hardly remembered my angry walk and elevator ride, but the wait will forever be burned into my memory. The magical looking baubles and books that normally occupied my wait didn’t even register on my radar. I felt like I was feeling everything and nothing at the same time. My mind flashed with images of violence and terror that should be reserved for nightmares.
The subject of every single image: Lee Minho.
One second he was looming above my bloody and desecrated corpse with a grin of manic evil. The next we had switched places and I became the murderer. Then his mouth was at my neck, draining me of my life’s essence with ecstasy all over his face. Then I was draining him in pure, blissful rapture. It was a brutal back and forth between predator and prey.
It was a confusing, twisted, endless barrage that fueled the primal rage coursing through my veins and mixing with adrenaline. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want fate to make me another unknown statistic in a long list of Marks that didn’t make the Change.
Become the predator. It was a thought. It was unbidden, and unfamiliar. It had my adrenaline in overdrive.
When the conference room door opened, all I saw was red.
I spent my life hearing about tragedies that happened to others in the news. They often spoke of out-of-body experiences: they knew what was happening but it didn’t feel as if it were happening to them. I never thought to experience the phenomenon myself, but I knew what I was doing. I could see my body lunge from the cushiony chair with a speed I didn’t know I was capable of. I could see Lee Minho’s beautiful face turn from mild annoyance to shock. I couldn’t feel him, but I could see my body collide with his, slamming the heavy door shut as we collided.
I was out of control, and I didn’t know how to stop it.
“Minji!” Lee Minho called out. It wasn’t his usual sardonic, laissez-faire tone. It was authoritative. It had my mind compelling my body to stop with fervor. I was internally begging. I didn’t want whatever was happening to happen, but I was not a master of myself at that moment.
Violence. Rage. Aggression.
Devour him. Tear into his pretty neck. Feed. Murder.
“Dammit, Minji,” Minho grunted from below me. I was straddling him, my knees to either side of his waist and my head bending to the smooth crook that gracefully fell off to his shoulders. It was so beautiful, clear, and pristine. Vampyres had heartbeats, contrary to common belief. They were simply much more faint than humans, but I could see his. It was all I could see. It was the source of his life, and the monster inside of me wanted to claim it.
There was a scuffle. Limbs twisting, entangling. His hands were on me, fighting back against my instincts even as I was helpless to control them. I didn’t understand. I didn’t want to. I had one clear, and singular goal: to taste, consume, and destroy.
Instincts were often at odds with logic. I was a new Mark, and Minho was a full, grown Vampyre. He was stronger. Had I been capable of thought, I would have known that. I would have never attacked him in the first place, and I would have certainly stopped when he switched our positions. I was on my back, chest heaving under him and body still fighting despite the odds not being in my favor. My hands clawed at him, scraping against the fabric of the shirt covering his chest. He was quick to incapacitate them, clasping both in each of his own and holding them above my head as his face hovered inches from mine.
I still struggled against his hold - the fight coursing through me like an addictive drug. Nothing could stop it - stop me - until the length of one of his thighs pushed between mine to better pin me to the ground. The sound that escaped my mouth was animalistic. Want replaced rage.
“Minho-” I started. I didn’t know what I would say. I didn’t even know who I was. Everything was a mess of emotion - all in shades of red. It was the first and only lesson Lee Minho had taught me: rage and desire were two sides of the same coin.
“It’s happening sooner than we thought,” he mused. He said it out loud, but he didn’t appear to be speaking to me. His focus was on the Mark above my eyes.
“Minho,” I whined his name again as he shifted obliviously above me. The movement had his thigh pressing further into my clothed sex. The excitement from the fight had transferred easily into a much different excitement, but I was slowly regaining control of myself and mortification and horror were becoming prominent.
It took him all but a second to catch on. His eyes trailed down to mine, then to my lips, and further until he took stock of the way our bodies pressed together. I could feel him shift again, and I gasped in response. With brain and body mostly in unison again, I resisted the powerful urge to move my hips against him, seeking more of the delicious pressure he was teasing me with.
“You’re doing it on purpose now,” I grunted in annoyance.
“Doing what?” He asked with wide, innocent eyes.
“Please,” I whimpered when he did it again. My hands were still trapped by his - my entire body held captive by him. I was begging, but I didn’t know if it was for release or pleasure.
“I think I like you better like this. You’re much sweeter,” he mocked with his familiar smirk curving his soft lips. I hated it, but I still felt it all the way to the tips of my toes.
“You’re an asshole,” I grunted in frustration.
“I’m an asshole? You just attacked me,” he stated calmly.
At the reminder of my inexplicable actions, my mood sobered. Something was happening to me. I didn’t understand it, and I could not control it. “Why? Why did I do that?”
The world was turning upside down again. Lee Minho’s expression softened. The teasing light in his eyes extinguished. The smirk on his lips fell flat. There was pity written all over his face - pity aimed in my direction.
“Don’t do that,” I snapped at his change in demeanor. “I don’t want your sympathy. Just explain. Help me learn to control whatever is happening.”
“You can’t.” He was moving, climbing off me and freeing me from him. He stood above me, almost hesitant, before dropping into his usual chair with a concerning lack of his normal grace. I scrambled to my feet on my own, but I didn’t sit. I was too emotional. If I sat, I was afraid I would crumble.
“Why not?” I demanded. I could feel myself working into a frenzy, spinning out of control all over again. Is this what life would be like from now on? “I can’t handle it, Minho. I came here with intent, but not to murder. I just wanted answers: that’s all. I swear it, but-”
“But then emotion took over, and you became its slave,” he helpfully supplied. He was studying me intently. Watching my reaction to his statement like it was the most important thing in the world. “You wanted to kill me, drain me.”
“Yes. How did you-”
“That's how -” he cut me off before halting himself. He weighed his next words before continuing. “That’s how I’ve heard it described: like a monster lurking in your subconscious.”
“It doesn’t happen to full Vampyres?” I asked curiously.
“Sort of. You feel the urges: feed, kill, fuck,” he spoke softly despite the crassness of his statement. I would be lying if I said such dirty words coming from such a beautiful face didn’t affect me, but I fought against it. This was the most information he had offered yet, and I would not waste the opportunity. “It’s in our nature, but not to that extent. Marks feel it more.”
“It’s not my nature. I’m not violent. I cry when characters die in shows, even the supporting cast!” I insisted with a strange desire to prove my morals to myself.
“Whatever you were before, forget it. Trying to fight it only makes it worse. It's instinct - it can be misguided, but it’s not usually wrong.” His words felt like ice water being dumped over my head. It was uncomfortable, and chilling.
“Minho!” I exclaimed in exasperation. “I just tried to kill you.”
“But you didn’t,” he replied easily. Maybe a complete lack of care for the sanctity of life was a staple of his personality. He shrugged off a murder attempt on his life with barely a thought given to it.
“But I tried! How is that not wrong? What if I try to murder someone who isn’t as strong as you?” I asked in horror. Maeri came to mind - her face bright and sweet. What if I lost control during one of our spats and tried to murder her? She didn’t have Vampyric strength. I would succeed.
“Why did you try to kill me, Minji?” Minho broke into my panic. He leveled me with his intense stare again.
“I was confused. There’s so much I don’t know, and you won’t tell me anything. It made me angry, and admittedly scared.”
“Anger. Fear. Self preservation. These are not negative things. One day, they may even save your life,” he guided gently. His sudden willingness to help me had me reeling with conflict yet again. He was cold - sometimes even mean - but he held a certain softness that he tried to hide. I had only gotten brief glimpses, but I could see it. Maybe his beautiful but cruel face was a mask after all.
“Would killing you save me?” I asked. My voice was dripping with sarcasm, almost venomous. That in of itself was instinct - self preservation. Cold Minho would kill me. Soft Minho would unravel my entire world before ending in homicide.
“No. Your demise might be a bit more abrupt without me around.” He stood as he spoke, never letting his gaze drop mine. I was becoming accustomed to his searching and often condescending looks, but as he got closer, I became increasingly more frustrated. He was intent, focused. I might have daydreamed many times about him looking at me like that but under very different circumstances.
“Come here,” he crooned as he took my hands into his colder ones. Without giving me a chance to protest, he tugged me along until we stood in front of an old, standing mirror. He stood behind me, nudging my attention to my reflection with the command, “Look.”
I didn’t need his guidance to find out what he wanted me to look at. It was obvious, and it chilled me to the depths of my soul. The outline of a crescent moon that had once graced the skin of my forehead was no more. The shape was still there, but it was filled with a dark purple that was even more ostentatious than before. Surrounding it were fainter, more delicate lines that swirled from the core of the moon to my temples.
“What the fuck,” I gasped in shock.
“Don’t worry,” Minho cajoled from behind me. His hand had dropped mine only for him to grip my waist lightly with both. He stared at me in the mirror, watching my reflection with curious eyes over my shoulder. “It’s supposed to do that. It’s actually a good thing.”
“Why is it good?”
“I didn’t think it would happen so fast, but it’s a sign of the Change advancing. Your chances of death have decreased by…” He trailed off, squinting his eyes in exaggerated thought. “Two percent?”
“Joy,” I grumbled out, earning the rumble of a chuckle that I could feel at my back.
“The Change itself can kill you, Minji. It’s fairly common, actually. Your book covers it briefly, but the Mark expanding is a sign that your body is adjusting,” he informed me.
“Just another ugly truth that the Association doesn’t want to share?”
“Good, Kitten,” he praised, using the infamous pet name he called me at our first meeting. I felt my toes curl in my sneakers. The Change was a confusing beast, but Lee Minho was worse. “You’re finally catching on.”
“Minho,” I called to him suddenly, seriously. I held his gaze in the mirror feeling bolder and more brave with the glass acting as a barrier. “Is the Association a threat?”
“Government entities are always a threat when absolute power is placed in their hands.”
“You’re being vague again. I want a proper answer.” My words were hard, unfaltering. I was determined to know. I couldn’t protect myself if I didn’t know what I was protecting myself from.
“That was a proper answer. The Association has absolute power in the Vampryic world and close ties with human governments,” he supplied.
“That doesn’t explain how they are a threat to Marks - to me,” I insisted.
I saw it before it happened. His face closed off, his mocking grin marring his features as his eyes hardened to dark crystals. Then his hands left me as he stepped out of my range. Lee Minho had put his mask back on.
“I never said they were,” he refuted nonchalantly. “Our time is up for tonight.”
“You-”
“A last word of advice,” he called as he headed for the door. He turned back around to face me with his lithe fingers on the knob. His words were more ice water being dumped over me, drowning me in cold and misery. “All of us, you included, have a part to play. It’s how the system works. They say dance, and we do. They want us to sing and look pretty, so we do that too. Sometimes the strings break.”
His gaze dropped mine for just a fraction of a second. He was faltering, and for that moment, I saw it: uncertainty, maybe even fear. Why would Lee Minho be scared of anything? Before I could ponder it, he was continuing.
“When they break, we marionettes get a moment of reprieve to think. Just a moment, because if you stop dancing for too long they will notice. What do you think happens if we ruin the performance?”
I didn’t answer. I wasn’t even sure I knew how to. He was back to his cryptic warnings - confusing and tormenting me all in one.
“Dance, Kitten. Know your place and dance within the lines they’ve defined or you will be dealt with.”
“What is my place?” I all but screamed. I was getting frustrated again, the anger building back up to mix with fear. If I had learned anything from the night, it was that those two emotions were a dangerous combination that could combust with devastating consequences.
All I got in response was a mocking smirk as Lee Minho left me without proper answers once again.
