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masterlist - New World Masterlist | The Kings: New World Spin-Off | New World Index (coming soon)
How are you? Are you drinking water? Eating your meals? Having more than 6 hours but less than 10 hours of sleep?
my..aren’t you the sweetest
i’ve been well. i went thru a rough couple of weeks but i’ve been much happier lately. i’m eating well and drinking enough. and i’ve been getting better sleep.
i’m better now.
i love you and thank you for asking me how i’ve been. how are you?
Pairing: Ot8 Ateez x reader
AU: fantasy AU | stranger -> mates
Summary: In Hala, a house of eight kingdoms, each boasting its own wonders, you never imagined that amidst the pain, you would also fall—this time, in love. Word Count: 2.1k | 9 mins
Warning: MDNI! Please do not read if you are sensitive to such content.
The night refused to sleep.
Wind whispered through the open balcony, carrying the scent of sand and spice, stirring the drapes until they rippled like ghostly wings. You lay awake beneath the violet canopy, eyes tracing the slow dance of light from the chandelier above.
Maybe it was the change in air — too warm, too dry, the breeze brushing against your skin like restless fingers. Or maybe it was Charadyn itself. The city didn’t quiet like Caius did. It breathed even in its slumber. You could feel the low hum of wings, bells, and distant voices, as though the walls themselves remembered movement.
Or maybe it was Wooyoung. The warmth of his hand still ghosted across your cheek, his words circling your mind long after he’d gone.
You turned, sheets slipping against your skin, and stared at the faint shimmer of torchlight spilling through the curtains. Sleep would not come.
After a moment, you rose.
The floor was cool beneath your feet, the marble veined with soft gold that caught the lantern light. You wrapped a shawl loosely around your shoulders and stepped into the corridor. The palace was hushed now, its daytime grandeur subdued to a whisper — only the soft crackle of torches and the sigh of the wind through the arches.
You didn’t know where you were going, only that your feet carried you back toward the Solara Court. The place had lingered in your mind — the painted wings, the quiet pool, the faint echo of remembrance.
You took a seat in one of the cushioned alcoves, the fabric cool beneath your palms, and tilted your head back toward the open sky. The moon hung high, its light spilling silver across the courtyard, catching on the ripples of the fountain and the painted wings above.
For a while, you just breathed. The air here felt heavier than in Caius - touched with sand and salt, yet sweetened by the jasmine that clung to the walls. You could almost taste the city on the wind, alive even at this hour.
Your thoughts drifted. A quiet ache sat in your chest, not pain exactly, just restlessness. You wondered what tomorrow would bring, and if you’d feel any more certain once it came.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
The voice broke softly through the silence.
You startled, looking over your shoulder.
San stood near one of the archways, his figure half-veiled by the pale light.
At first glance, his cloak appeared almost casual, with loose folds around his shoulders that resembled a sleeping robe, but the fabric betrayed its value. Deep obsidian silk, heavy but fluid, caught the moonlight and shimmered in dark iridescent hues, the way dragon scales might shift beneath water. The hem brushed the floor as he moved, whispering against the marble, and for a moment you could almost imagine wings unfurling in its place.
The loose collar had slipped open slightly, revealing a glimpse of skin — warm bronze kissed by the moon’s silver — and the faint curve of muscle along his collarbone. The contrast was striking.
You gaped at the sight, too startled to find words. For a heartbeat, it didn’t feel real; the glow of the marble, the shimmer of his cloak, the quiet curve of his smile under the moonlight.
San’s laugh broke the silence, soft and low. “I missed you too, jewels.”
The sound of it pulled you back to yourself, a flush rising to your cheeks before you could stop it.
“You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that,” you said, trying to sound unbothered.
“I didn’t sneak,” he replied, amusement flickering in his eyes. “I was passing by.”
You tilted a brow. “At midnight?”
He shrugged lightly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I was just in my study. The summit in Kian is held as soon as Charadyn’s finished.”
He gestured toward the seat beside you. “May I?”
You nodded, and he sat, his cloak folding around him like liquid shadow.
“And due to my absence,” he went on, his voice calm but edged with weariness, “it seems a pile of papers has taken over my drawing board.”
You glanced at him, guilt pricking unexpectedly. “I didn’t mean to keep you from your work.”
San chuckled under his breath, low and soft. “You didn’t. The work never ends, that’s all. I just thought I’d steal a moment of quiet before it finds me again.”
You nodded, albeit not feeling entirely reassured, but you agreed regardless.
“How was your ride? I trust there were no surprises on your way?”
“None worth mentioning,” you said, a small smile touching your lips.
San nodded slowly, the corners of his mouth curving faintly. “Good.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It settled between you like a shared breath, broken only by the soft ripple of water from the fountain. The moonlight brushed along the marble floor, catching the edges of his cloak.
“Do you come here often?” you asked after a moment. “To Charadyn, I mean. You seem to have a good bond with Wooyoung.”
San leaned back slightly, thoughtful but relaxed. “Ah, yes. Though we didn’t grow up together. I met him only after I was crowned king.”
You blinked. “Really? You sound like old friends.”
He chuckled softly. “That’s Wooyoung for you. He doesn’t really give you a choice.”
You laughed quietly. “I can imagine.”
“What’s Kian like?” you asked, curiosity slipping easily into your tone.
San tilted his head, thinking for a moment. “It’s quieter than Charadyn,” he began. “But not empty. The air carries dust from the hills and the scent of iron from the rivers. You can hear the wind run through the plains, and when the sun hits the fields, everything glows gold.”
He smiled faintly, as if picturing it. “Kian’s built on old bones — relics, stone, faith. My people like to believe the Choi bloodline was touched by the divine once. I’ve never argued with them. It keeps their hearts steady.”
You glanced at him, intrigued. “And you? Do you believe it?”
San’s smile deepened, small but genuine. “I believe in what it gives them. Pride. Purpose. Sometimes that’s close enough to divinity.”
He paused, his gaze distant for a heartbeat before returning to you. “It’s a place of craft and patience. Our jewelers say a diamond is just carbon that’s learned endurance. I think Kian’s the same way — it survives because it remembers how to shine, even under pressure.”
“And do you truly believe that?”
A faint smile touched his lips. “I believe Kian belongs to its people — the ones who still work when the harvest is poor, who laugh when there’s nothing left to trade. They’re the ones who kept it standing.”
He smiled faintly, almost to himself. “When I was a boy, I used to imagine what it might be like to stand in those fields. Back then, Kian was just a story to me.”
You turned to him, curious. “You weren’t raised there?”
He shook his head, his gaze distant. “No. I grew up by the water. A small tavern near the riverbank. It was noisy, warm, full of people who worked too hard and drank too much. It wasn’t royal, but it was… kind.” A faint smile touched his lips. “They didn’t know I had royal blood then — neither did I, not really.”
There was quiet warmth in his tone, but underneath, something almost wistful. “The women there taught me everything I know — how to listen, how to fight, how to tell when someone’s lying about what hurts them. I thought that was all life was.”
You watched him closely. “And then?”
San’s smile flickered, almost self-conscious. “Then one day, I put on a crown and everything changed. I didn’t even know if it would accept me — the Crown burns anyone unworthy. But it didn’t burn me.”
He fell silent, his gaze lowering to the reflection of the moon on the water. “Sometimes I wonder if that was fate… or if the gods just have a cruel sense of humor.”
He let out a quiet breath, the corner of his mouth lifting in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Everyone saw that and decided it meant I belonged.”
His voice stayed calm, but something softer slipped through it. “I rule it now, but some days I still feel like I’m only visiting. Like I’m waiting for someone to tell me to go home — though I’m already there.”
The wind shifted through the courtyard, carrying the faint scent of jasmine. You didn’t answer right away; there wasn’t really anything to say. But when he smiled, it was quiet, knowing.
“Maybe that’s what kingship really is,” he murmured. “Learning to love something that no longer belongs to you the way it used to.”
And for a moment, you saw yourself in him.
How cruel you had been, you realized, to keep rejecting your own fate when he had embraced his, even with a heart still mending. He had taken what the world gave him — storm, crown, loneliness — and learned to stand beneath it without complaint.
You wondered how long it had taken him to find peace in that kind of surrender. How many nights he had sat just like this, listening to the wind, trying to make sense of what was never really his choice.
For the first time, you understood. He hadn’t accepted the crown because he wanted it. He’d done it because someone had to.
And somehow, that made him shine brighter than any king you’d ever known.
San stirred slightly, his gaze still on the water. “You’re quiet,” he said after a moment. “Did I say too much?”
You shook your head, your voice softer than you intended. “No. You said just enough.”
He looked at you then — not searching, not questioning, just seeing. The kind of look that didn’t demand explanation, only understanding.
The air between you felt fragile, like something sacred you didn’t want to break.
“I think,” you began carefully, “you were meant to be king. Not because of what the crown decided, but because of how you carry it.”
He tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “That sounds like something the court would say.”
“Maybe,” you said, smiling back, “but I meant it. You’re a good man, San.”
He held your gaze for a moment longer before exhaling a quiet laugh. “Careful, jewels,” he murmured.
“You’ll make me believe it.”
Without quite meaning to, you reached for him. Your fingers brushed the back of his hand — a small, deliberate touch that felt like a question.
He didn’t pull away. His hand turned beneath yours, fingers sliding between your own, and suddenly the distance between you didn’t feel like distance anymore.
“San…” you began, but your voice faded when he leaned closer, almost hesitant, as if giving you time to breathe, to decide.
You didn’t move back.
When his lips met yours, it was soft — a careful, searching kiss that trembled at the edges, more about emotion than desire. It wasn’t rushed; it lingered, gentle and steady, like the world had finally gone quiet long enough to let you both feel what had been waiting there all along.
The kiss felt consuming.
You felt the tremor in his breath, the way he exhaled through his nose as though the contact itself was a release, a surrender. His other hand lifted, hesitated for a fraction of a second, then brushed against your jaw — rough calluses against soft skin, gentle in a way that made your heart ache.
When he finally drew back, he didn’t go far. His forehead rested against yours, his breath uneven.
You felt a faint warmth where his skin met yours — a gentle, pulsing light that shimmered through the space between you. The mark on his forehead had begun to glow, soft and steady, like starlight caught beneath his skin.
He huffed out a soft laugh, brushing his thumb along your jaw, and for a while you just sat there.
“Gods,” he whispered against your lips, the words barely carried by the air between you. “I miss you.”
Your hand rose, fingers tracing the line of his face.
“I’m here.”
He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as if grounding himself in the sound of your voice.
He exhaled slowly, his head tipping until your foreheads touched once more. The kiss that followed was slower this time, deeper, steeped in the ache of being apart.
When it broke, you stayed close, your noses brushing, breath mingling. His hand slipped down to your shoulder, then stilled, resting there like a vow.
Eventually, exhaustion pulled you both down. You stayed there in Solara’s hall, the moonlight spilling over you, your head resting against his shoulder, his hand still warm in yours. Sleep found you easily, the kind that only comes when something inside finally stops running.
Masterlist
nineteen | twenty one
a/n: hii, i'm finally cleaning up my old drafts! i have the next couple of chapter planned (i'm talking like 5 chapters). i will be releasing wooyoungs moodboard soon and also finally, the index. please wait a little longer. FUN FACT i’m actually a puddingz!! however it’s so hard for me to write for san bc i love him so much idk how i should act.
Pairing: Ot8 Ateez x reader
AU: fantasy AU | stranger -> mates
Summary: In Hala, a house of eight kingdoms, each boasting its own wonders, you never imagined that amidst the pain, you would also fall—this time, in love. Word Count: 2.1k | 9 mins
Warning: MDNI! Please do not read if you are sensitive to such content.
The night refused to sleep.
Wind whispered through the open balcony, carrying the scent of sand and spice, stirring the drapes until they rippled like ghostly wings. You lay awake beneath the violet canopy, eyes tracing the slow dance of light from the chandelier above.
Maybe it was the change in air — too warm, too dry, the breeze brushing against your skin like restless fingers. Or maybe it was Charadyn itself. The city didn’t quiet like Caius did. It breathed even in its slumber. You could feel the low hum of wings, bells, and distant voices, as though the walls themselves remembered movement.
Or maybe it was Wooyoung. The warmth of his hand still ghosted across your cheek, his words circling your mind long after he’d gone.
You turned, sheets slipping against your skin, and stared at the faint shimmer of torchlight spilling through the curtains. Sleep would not come.
After a moment, you rose.
The floor was cool beneath your feet, the marble veined with soft gold that caught the lantern light. You wrapped a shawl loosely around your shoulders and stepped into the corridor. The palace was hushed now, its daytime grandeur subdued to a whisper — only the soft crackle of torches and the sigh of the wind through the arches.
You didn’t know where you were going, only that your feet carried you back toward the Solara Court. The place had lingered in your mind — the painted wings, the quiet pool, the faint echo of remembrance.
You took a seat in one of the cushioned alcoves, the fabric cool beneath your palms, and tilted your head back toward the open sky. The moon hung high, its light spilling silver across the courtyard, catching on the ripples of the fountain and the painted wings above.
For a while, you just breathed. The air here felt heavier than in Caius - touched with sand and salt, yet sweetened by the jasmine that clung to the walls. You could almost taste the city on the wind, alive even at this hour.
Your thoughts drifted. A quiet ache sat in your chest, not pain exactly, just restlessness. You wondered what tomorrow would bring, and if you’d feel any more certain once it came.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
The voice broke softly through the silence.
You startled, looking over your shoulder.
San stood near one of the archways, his figure half-veiled by the pale light.
At first glance, his cloak appeared almost casual, with loose folds around his shoulders that resembled a sleeping robe, but the fabric betrayed its value. Deep obsidian silk, heavy but fluid, caught the moonlight and shimmered in dark iridescent hues, the way dragon scales might shift beneath water. The hem brushed the floor as he moved, whispering against the marble, and for a moment you could almost imagine wings unfurling in its place.
The loose collar had slipped open slightly, revealing a glimpse of skin — warm bronze kissed by the moon’s silver — and the faint curve of muscle along his collarbone. The contrast was striking.
You gaped at the sight, too startled to find words. For a heartbeat, it didn’t feel real; the glow of the marble, the shimmer of his cloak, the quiet curve of his smile under the moonlight.
San’s laugh broke the silence, soft and low. “I missed you too, jewels.”
The sound of it pulled you back to yourself, a flush rising to your cheeks before you could stop it.
“You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that,” you said, trying to sound unbothered.
“I didn’t sneak,” he replied, amusement flickering in his eyes. “I was passing by.”
You tilted a brow. “At midnight?”
He shrugged lightly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I was just in my study. The summit in Kian is held as soon as Charadyn’s finished.”
He gestured toward the seat beside you. “May I?”
You nodded, and he sat, his cloak folding around him like liquid shadow.
“And due to my absence,” he went on, his voice calm but edged with weariness, “it seems a pile of papers has taken over my drawing board.”
You glanced at him, guilt pricking unexpectedly. “I didn’t mean to keep you from your work.”
San chuckled under his breath, low and soft. “You didn’t. The work never ends, that’s all. I just thought I’d steal a moment of quiet before it finds me again.”
You nodded, albeit not feeling entirely reassured, but you agreed regardless.
“How was your ride? I trust there were no surprises on your way?”
“None worth mentioning,” you said, a small smile touching your lips.
San nodded slowly, the corners of his mouth curving faintly. “Good.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It settled between you like a shared breath, broken only by the soft ripple of water from the fountain. The moonlight brushed along the marble floor, catching the edges of his cloak.
“Do you come here often?” you asked after a moment. “To Charadyn, I mean. You seem to have a good bond with Wooyoung.”
San leaned back slightly, thoughtful but relaxed. “Ah, yes. Though we didn’t grow up together. I met him only after I was crowned king.”
You blinked. “Really? You sound like old friends.”
He chuckled softly. “That’s Wooyoung for you. He doesn’t really give you a choice.”
You laughed quietly. “I can imagine.”
“What’s Kian like?” you asked, curiosity slipping easily into your tone.
San tilted his head, thinking for a moment. “It’s quieter than Charadyn,” he began. “But not empty. The air carries dust from the hills and the scent of iron from the rivers. You can hear the wind run through the plains, and when the sun hits the fields, everything glows gold.”
He smiled faintly, as if picturing it. “Kian’s built on old bones — relics, stone, faith. My people like to believe the Choi bloodline was touched by the divine once. I’ve never argued with them. It keeps their hearts steady.”
You glanced at him, intrigued. “And you? Do you believe it?”
San’s smile deepened, small but genuine. “I believe in what it gives them. Pride. Purpose. Sometimes that’s close enough to divinity.”
He paused, his gaze distant for a heartbeat before returning to you. “It’s a place of craft and patience. Our jewelers say a diamond is just carbon that’s learned endurance. I think Kian’s the same way — it survives because it remembers how to shine, even under pressure.”
“And do you truly believe that?”
A faint smile touched his lips. “I believe Kian belongs to its people — the ones who still work when the harvest is poor, who laugh when there’s nothing left to trade. They’re the ones who kept it standing.”
He smiled faintly, almost to himself. “When I was a boy, I used to imagine what it might be like to stand in those fields. Back then, Kian was just a story to me.”
You turned to him, curious. “You weren’t raised there?”
He shook his head, his gaze distant. “No. I grew up by the water. A small tavern near the riverbank. It was noisy, warm, full of people who worked too hard and drank too much. It wasn’t royal, but it was… kind.” A faint smile touched his lips. “They didn’t know I had royal blood then — neither did I, not really.”
There was quiet warmth in his tone, but underneath, something almost wistful. “The women there taught me everything I know — how to listen, how to fight, how to tell when someone’s lying about what hurts them. I thought that was all life was.”
You watched him closely. “And then?”
San’s smile flickered, almost self-conscious. “Then one day, I put on a crown and everything changed. I didn’t even know if it would accept me — the Crown burns anyone unworthy. But it didn’t burn me.”
He fell silent, his gaze lowering to the reflection of the moon on the water. “Sometimes I wonder if that was fate… or if the gods just have a cruel sense of humor.”
He let out a quiet breath, the corner of his mouth lifting in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Everyone saw that and decided it meant I belonged.”
His voice stayed calm, but something softer slipped through it. “I rule it now, but some days I still feel like I’m only visiting. Like I’m waiting for someone to tell me to go home — though I’m already there.”
The wind shifted through the courtyard, carrying the faint scent of jasmine. You didn’t answer right away; there wasn’t really anything to say. But when he smiled, it was quiet, knowing.
“Maybe that’s what kingship really is,” he murmured. “Learning to love something that no longer belongs to you the way it used to.”
And for a moment, you saw yourself in him.
How cruel you had been, you realized, to keep rejecting your own fate when he had embraced his, even with a heart still mending. He had taken what the world gave him — storm, crown, loneliness — and learned to stand beneath it without complaint.
You wondered how long it had taken him to find peace in that kind of surrender. How many nights he had sat just like this, listening to the wind, trying to make sense of what was never really his choice.
For the first time, you understood. He hadn’t accepted the crown because he wanted it. He’d done it because someone had to.
And somehow, that made him shine brighter than any king you’d ever known.
San stirred slightly, his gaze still on the water. “You’re quiet,” he said after a moment. “Did I say too much?”
You shook your head, your voice softer than you intended. “No. You said just enough.”
He looked at you then — not searching, not questioning, just seeing. The kind of look that didn’t demand explanation, only understanding.
The air between you felt fragile, like something sacred you didn’t want to break.
“I think,” you began carefully, “you were meant to be king. Not because of what the crown decided, but because of how you carry it.”
He tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “That sounds like something the court would say.”
“Maybe,” you said, smiling back, “but I meant it. You’re a good man, San.”
He held your gaze for a moment longer before exhaling a quiet laugh. “Careful, jewels,” he murmured.
“You’ll make me believe it.”
Without quite meaning to, you reached for him. Your fingers brushed the back of his hand — a small, deliberate touch that felt like a question.
He didn’t pull away. His hand turned beneath yours, fingers sliding between your own, and suddenly the distance between you didn’t feel like distance anymore.
“San…” you began, but your voice faded when he leaned closer, almost hesitant, as if giving you time to breathe, to decide.
You didn’t move back.
When his lips met yours, it was soft — a careful, searching kiss that trembled at the edges, more about emotion than desire. It wasn’t rushed; it lingered, gentle and steady, like the world had finally gone quiet long enough to let you both feel what had been waiting there all along.
The kiss felt consuming.
You felt the tremor in his breath, the way he exhaled through his nose as though the contact itself was a release, a surrender. His other hand lifted, hesitated for a fraction of a second, then brushed against your jaw — rough calluses against soft skin, gentle in a way that made your heart ache.
When he finally drew back, he didn’t go far. His forehead rested against yours, his breath uneven.
You felt a faint warmth where his skin met yours — a gentle, pulsing light that shimmered through the space between you. The mark on his forehead had begun to glow, soft and steady, like starlight caught beneath his skin.
He huffed out a soft laugh, brushing his thumb along your jaw, and for a while you just sat there.
“Gods,” he whispered against your lips, the words barely carried by the air between you. “I miss you.”
Your hand rose, fingers tracing the line of his face.
“I’m here.”
He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as if grounding himself in the sound of your voice.
He exhaled slowly, his head tipping until your foreheads touched once more. The kiss that followed was slower this time, deeper, steeped in the ache of being apart.
When it broke, you stayed close, your noses brushing, breath mingling. His hand slipped down to your shoulder, then stilled, resting there like a vow.
Eventually, exhaustion pulled you both down. You stayed there in Solara’s hall, the moonlight spilling over you, your head resting against his shoulder, his hand still warm in yours. Sleep found you easily, the kind that only comes when something inside finally stops running.
Masterlist
nineteen | twenty one
a/n: hii, i'm finally cleaning up my old drafts! i have the next couple of chapter planned (i'm talking like 5 chapters). i will be releasing wooyoungs moodboard soon and also finally, the index. please wait a little longer. FUN FACT i’m actually a puddingz!! however it’s so hard for me to write for san bc i love him so much idk how i should act.
Pairing: Ot8 Ateez x reader
AU: fantasy AU | stranger -> mates
Summary: In Hala, a house of eight kingdoms, each boasting its own wonders, you never imagined that amidst the pain, you would also fall—this time, in love.
Word Count: 3.4k | 14 mins
Warning: none?? probably a slight history about charadyn (mention of death). Please do not read if you are sensitive to such content.
The world dissolved into warmth.
Yunho’s lips were softer than you could have imagined. It felt steady, careful, as if he feared the moment might shatter if he pressed too hard. The taste of him was faintly sweet, like the honeyed wine you’d shared, mingled with the smoke of the chimney and the night air.
Every breath between you blurred; the edges of thought melted until there was only the press of his mouth, the tremor of your pulse, the unsteady rhythm of your forgotten breath.
A flutter rose in your chest — sharp, bright, impossible to contain. It spread through you like a spark catching kindling, a rush of heat and light that made your fingers tremble against him. The kiss deepened, and it felt like fireworks behind closed eyes — fleeting bursts of color, gone as quickly as they came, but leaving your heart racing in their wake.
He drew back just enough for air to find you both, though his forehead stayed against yours. His breath came rough, uneven, and when he spoke, it was barely more than a whisper. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured. You shook your head, your voice trembling but sure.
“Don’t stop.”
The morning broke soft and silver, the mist still clinging to the grass as the horses moved through the valley. Hooves drummed in a steady rhythm, muffled by the damp earth, and the faint scent of rain lingered in the air.
You sat before Yunho on his horse, the steady rise and fall of its stride rocking you gently in his hold. One of his hands rested firm around your stomach, anchoring you against him as the other guided the reins.
Every sway of the horse brought you closer, the movement unhurried and the silence between you strangely sweet. The warmth of him seeped through your back, his breath brushing the edge of your temple when he leaned forward slightly.
You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed this kind of silence — not the hollow kind that echoed in empty rooms, but the quiet that asked nothing of you. For once, you didn’t feel the need to guard your words or your thoughts. A part of you wanted to speak, to let him see the corners of you you’d kept hidden.
When you glanced up, you found him already looking down. There was something steady in his gaze, something that made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t quite name. It felt like warmth but deeper than that, it was understanding. And you found yourself wanting to trust it. To trust him. To trust them.
“Something amusing?” you murmured, trying not to sound breathless.
He tilted his head slightly, the ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Just thinking you fit here too easily.”
You meant to laugh, but the sound came softer than you intended. Your eyes met again, closer this time, and for a heartbeat neither of you looked away.
Then he looked forward again, urging the horse to a slower pace. But you could still feel his smile, lingering, reflected in your own.
“Yunho, stop being slow,” came a familiar voice ahead.
Both of you startled slightly, breaking apart just enough to see Hongjoong glancing back over his shoulder, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and impatience. Further along the road, the others were already a ways ahead — Mingi and Jongho riding side by side, their laughter carrying faintly through the mist, while Seonghwa led with quiet composure, his posture straight as ever. Yeosang trailed a little behind them, his head tilted as though listening to something in the wind, the sunlight beginning to catch on the pale edges of his wings.
Yunho exhaled a quiet laugh. “Jealous much?”
Hongjoong raised a brow, smirking. “Hardly. Some of us just plan to reach Charadyn this century.”
Yunho clicked his tongue, feigning offense. “We’ll be there soon enough, Your Majesty. Some of us just prefer not to break the horse before midday.”
Hongjoong rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, turning forward again with that half-smile you’d come to recognize, the kind that said he’d already won even without a word more.
You let out a small laugh under your breath, shaking your head. “You two are impossible.”
Yunho hummed, amusement lacing his tone. “You should see us during council meetings. This is us being civil.”
That earned another laugh from you, lighter this time. The air between you eased, the earlier tension fading into something easy and familiar.
The mist had begun to lift, giving way to clear skies that stretched pale and endless above. Hills rolled out ahead, flecked with stone and wildflowers, and in the far distance, the faint outline of mountains shimmered like glass.
Yunho’s hand shifted as he adjusted the reins. “If the weather holds, we’ll reach the foothills before night fall.”
You glanced up at the horizon. “Charadyn?”
He nodded, eyes forward. “The outer gates, at least. You’ll hear the city before you see it — the bells, the wings.”
A small smile tugged at your lips. “That loud?”
Yunho huffed a quiet laugh. “As loud as Wooyoung on festival day.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound carrying easily into the open air. “So deafening, then.”
“Exactly,” he said, grinning now.
The first thing you noticed was the sound.
Even before the city came fully into view, the air itself seemed to hum — a chorus of bells, wings, and voices that rose and fell like the tide. By the time the caravan reached the outer gates, Charadyn stretched before you in a blur of motion and color.
Banners of deep crimson and sun-worn gold rippled from high archways. Merchants called from their stalls in a dozen languages, their cries carried on the wind alongside the metallic clang of blacksmiths and the laughter of children darting through narrow alleys. The scent of spice and rain-warmed stone clung to the air — pepper and citrus, cardamom and sweet smoke, the faint bite of salt from the sea beyond the walls.
Your senses swam in it — too much, too vivid, too alive. After the long days of travel, it felt almost unreal.
Yunho slowed his horse near the gates, his hand resting lightly on your waist as his gaze swept the skyline. “Charadyn,” he murmured. “The city that never sleeps.”
Yunho guided the horse through the press of people until you reached the inner courtyard. Then, with his usual steady grace, he dismounted and turned to you, one arm sliding around your waist as he helped you down. His touch lingered just long enough for your breath to catch.
“About time!”
You turned toward the sound — and barely had the chance to blink before a blur of crimson and gold swept through the crowd.
“Morning, sweetheart.”
Wooyoung’s grin flashed a heartbeat before his arms caught you. With one swift motion, he spun you clean off your feet, laughter bubbling from him as easily as breath.
You squealed — startled, breathless, the world spinning in color around you. “Wooyoung!”
The laughter that left you felt freer than you expected. It startled you — the ease of it, the joy in being caught, even just for a heartbeat. Maybe you were tired of holding yourself so carefully.
“My lady!” he said, setting you back down but not quite letting go. “I thought Reed’s finest had forgotten how to ride.”
Yunho, still mounted, snorted. “We were enjoying the view.”
“Ah.” Wooyoung’s eyes gleamed, sliding toward you with deliberate mischief. “That explains the pace. If I had company like that, I wouldn’t rush either.”
You felt the heat rise instantly to your cheeks. “You’re impossible.”
“Undeniably,” he agreed. “But charming, too, aren’t I?”
“I hope you haven’t been boring her to tears with your heroics,” he added, flashing Yunho a grin.
“She was perfectly entertained,” Yunho said dryly.
Wooyoung laughed and nodded toward the line of carriages nearby. “Stuff from Reed also arrived. You might want to greet your people before they start thinking you’ve forgotten them.”
Yunho followed his gaze, then smiled faintly. “Right.”
Before he turned away, his eyes softened as they found yours — and then, almost without thought, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple.
It was quick, barely more than a breath, but it lingered.
Wooyoung gave a low whistle. “Well,” he said under his breath, eyes glinting. “If that’s how Reed says goodbye, I can’t wait to see how they say hello.”
When you looked up, Wooyoung was already watching you.
He was dressed differently today. A deep crimson cloak draped over his shoulders, threaded with veins of gold that shimmered when he moved. The fabric caught the light like liquid metal, the edges lined with patterns of indigo and bronze that shifted with every breeze. Beneath it, his tunic was a dark, fitted weave, cinched at the waist by a wide leather belt adorned with small sigils that glinted faintly blue.
Even his wings seemed to catch the light — broader, brighter, every feather gleaming as though Charadyn itself had crowned him in gold.
You, meanwhile, felt suddenly and acutely aware of yourself. The dust clinging to your boots. The dried sweat on your collar. The fact that you hadn’t bathed in two days and were still wearing the same travel-worn clothes from the road.
A pang of self-consciousness stirred and standing beside him, you couldn’t help but feel dim in comparison.
Wooyoung tilted his head, catching the flicker in your expression. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his grin softening. “You look like someone stole your bread.”
You huffed a laugh, trying to play it off. “Just realizing I’m… not exactly palace-ready.”
He chuckled, low and warm. “Sweetheart, you like as beautiful as the first ray of sun. Besides..” His gaze swept over you, lingering just long enough to make your pulse skip. “You wear exhaustion well. Almost makes it look intentional.”
You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth curved despite yourself.
Wooyoung grinned, clearly satisfied that he’d won the smallest of victories. “Come on,” he said, motioning toward the main halls where banners of gold and deep blue swayed in the breeze. “Let me show you the palace before someone drags me into another council meeting.”
You fell into step beside him, the sun spilling gold across the road ahead. From this distance, Charadyn seems to unfolded. Towers of pale stone arched toward the sky like frozen pillars of light, their spires veined with iridescence that shimmered faintly, as though alive with Atherion breath.
The nearer you drew, the clearer the sound became: the hum of wings, the echo of voices carried on the wind, the rhythmic clang of gates opening.
“You know,” Wooyoung said conversationally, breaking the quiet, “I forgot how overwhelming it can look to outsiders.”
You glanced up at him. “Overwhelming is one word.”
He smirked. “You’re not wrong. We like to make an entrance. Keeps the visiting nobles humble.”
“That sounds very Charadyn of you.”
“That’s because it is.” He winked. “Half ceremony, half theater. The trick is convincing everyone it’s all divine design.”
Your gaze followed the line of banners stretching toward the gates. “And the other half?”
“The other half,” he said, his grin sharpening, “is pretending you weren’t up until dawn arguing with your generals.”
You laughed before you could stop yourself. “Sounds like you speak from experience.”
“I never argue,” Wooyoung replied easily. “I persuade. Loudly.”
The two of you reached the first archway, its marble columns carved with sweeping winged forms. Guards in crested armor bowed as Wooyoung passed, their eyes flicking curiously toward you. You fought the urge to shrink under their gaze, but Wooyoung only tilted his head toward you with an easy smile, subtle, but enough to draw attention away rather than toward.
Inside, the air cooled. The vast inner court opened before you in a blaze of color—gardens spilling with silver blossoms, water channels reflecting the banners overhead, and at the far end, the great palace itself.
You stopped without meaning to. “It’s…”
“Too much?” Wooyoung offered.
You shook your head slowly. “Beautiful.”
He smiled at that, softer this time, the teasing gone from his tone. “Then it’s done its job.” He turned, offering his hand. “Come on. I’ll take you through the east terrace—it’s quieter there. Fewer eyes.”
You hesitated for half a breath before taking it. His fingers were warm, sure.
As he led you beneath the arched walkway, the palace seemed to come alive around you. Light filtered through latticed windows, scattering like broken jewels across marble floors veined in gold. Columns rose tall and intricate, carved with patterns of feathers, vines, and constellations that shimmered faintly with inlaid crystal. The scent of jasmine and amber hung in the air, carried by the faint whisper of fountains hidden behind archways.
He led you down a hall that unfolded into a wide courtyard washed in the fading glow of dusk. Paths of blue and ivory tile glimmered beneath your feet, leading to a fountain sculpted like a pair of unfurled wings, its waters scattering light in a hundred tiny reflections. Around it, velvet lounges and cushioned alcoves in deep crimson and teal invited rest amid palms and flowering trees stretching toward the sky. Sunlight streamed through tall, arched windows traced with delicate filigree, casting shifting patterns across the marble floor. The air was cool and fragrant with sandalwood and parchment.
“This,” Wooyoung said, his voice dipping low with quiet pride, “is Solara Court. Where the first king of Charadyn received his wings.”
You turned to him, wide-eyed. “It’s beautiful.”
“It should be,” he murmured, his gaze tracing the sunlight on the water. “He died here too.”
The words lingered, soft and heavy as dust motes in the air.
“But Charadyn remembers,” he added after a moment, glancing back at you with a faint smile. “Even when the rest of us forget.”
Wooyoung’s steps echoed lightly beside you. “Most people come here for the ceiling,” he said, his tone light but reverent.
You looked up.
The ceiling unfurled like a living sky, vast wings painted across its curve, each feather traced in gold and blue, their tips dissolving into a swirl of stars. Between them, faint script wound through the constellations, glowing softly where sunlight kissed the gold leaf.
“Every wing,” Wooyoung said quietly, “belongs to a house of Charadyn. Each one bears the colors and sigils of those who ascended, families who completed the ceremony and earned their place in the sky.”
Your gaze traced the gilded arcs overhead. “There are hundreds.”
“Thousands,” he corrected gently. “Some say every feather is a name that history forgot.”
You turned to him. “And yours?”
Wooyoung’s smile flickered, the kind that never reached his eyes. “Mine isn’t there yet.”
“Yet?” you echoed.
He shrugged one shoulder, glancing up again. “They only add a king’s wings when his reign ends. Which means I’ll either be dead or dethroned. Neither option’s particularly exciting.”
The quiet that followed was strange — not heavy, but thoughtful. You found your gaze following his, the ceiling’s painted light reflected faintly in his eyes.
You watched him.
The way the sunlight caught in his hair, the way his eyes softened when he looked at this place. In that instant, beneath all the teasing and charm, you saw something deeper. A man who carried history not just in his blood, but in his bones.
"You are a great king, Wooyoung.”
He smiled at you. After a moment, he broke it with a softer tone. “I used to sneak in here as a boy,” he said. “Before I had any titles. Before I realized how much weight comes with them. I thought the names on the ceiling were… watching. Guiding us. But when you get older, you realize history doesn’t watch anyone. It just waits to see who ends up written next.”
You smiled faintly, your voice light. “You sound like someone who’s spent too much time staring at ceilings.”
Wooyoung chuckled under his breath. “Maybe I have. They tend to listen better than most of my council.”
The tension eased, replaced by something quieter—something almost easy. He turned from the painted wings above and nodded toward the corridor. “Come on. You’ve had a long journey. I should at least show you where you’ll be staying before someone steals you away for another tour.”
You followed as he led the way out of the gallery, the echo of your footsteps soft against the marble. The palace grew calmer as the halls stretched on; servants moved like whispers, lanterns glowed warm against the cool stone, and the scent of blooming lilies drifted through open arches.
“You’ll be staying in the northern wing,” Wooyoung said as you walked. “It’s far enough from the council chambers that you won’t have to hear me shouting at anyone before breakfast.”
You laughed softly. “I appreciate the consideration.”
He gave a small shrug. “You’ve earned it. Not many survive a day in Charadyn without asking to be sent home.”
“I’m still deciding if I should.”
He glanced sideways, grinning. “Then I’ll just have to change your mind.”
Wooyoung slowed near a set of carved doors, their frames lined with silver filigree that shimmered faintly in the dim light. He brushed a hand across the sigil at the center, and the doors eased open with a low hum.
“Here,” he said, stepping aside for you to enter.
The room beyond was bathed in light. Sheer drapes stirred in the evening breeze, carrying the sound of distant fountains. Sunlight filtered through draped silks of amber and rose, the glow turning the walls to gold. Cushions and throws in deep jewel tones—sapphire, magenta, and marigold—spilled across a sunken nook beneath tall arched windows veiled in vines and flowers. The air carried the soft scent of jasmine and rain-soaked leaves drifting in from the gardens below.
In the center of the room stood a vast circular bed swathed in violet fabric and shimmering gauze, its canopy crowned with a chandelier that scattered fragments of light like stars. Every corner breathed comfort, from the low tables set with golden dishes to the faint murmur of wind through the curtains. It was a place that invited quiet, a private world of softness and dusk-colored dreams, untouched by the grandeur of the palace beyond its doors. A balcony overlooked the gardens below, where torchlight flickered like fireflies among the trees.
You turned back to him. “This is…”
He smiled, hands sliding loosely behind his back. “Charadyn hospitality. Try to act impressed.”
You laughed quietly. “I am impressed. It is beautiful”
He leaned casually against the doorframe, watching you. “Charadyn has a habit of showing off.”
“Does that include its king?” you asked, glancing back at him.
For once, he didn’t have an answer right away. His composure slipped — just barely — a flicker of surprise passing through his eyes before his lips curved again, slower this time, as if unsure whether to tease or tell the truth.
Wooyoung’s gaze lingered on you, his usual poise wavering under the weight of something quieter. The playful retort that hovered on his tongue never came. Instead, he let out a soft exhale, his smile faltering into something gentler.
“Maybe,” he said at last, his voice low. “But only when someone’s worth showing off for.”
You felt the words settle in your chest, heavier than their easy tone implied. The air between you warmed, the light from the chandelier scattering faint gold across his face.
He pushed away from the doorframe, taking a slow step forward. “You should rest,” he said, though his tone lacked conviction — as if he wasn’t entirely ready to leave.
You nodded with a small smile. “Dinner will be brought up to your room. The summits begin tomorrow, and you might have a visit from San — he’s been missing you.”
“Did you miss me?” you blurted before you could stop yourself.
Wooyoung’s smile softened, the edges of his composure fading as his hand lifted to your face. His thumb brushed gently along your cheek, slow and careful, as if he were afraid the moment might shatter if he moved too fast.
“A day without you,” he said quietly, his voice hushed but steady, “feels like the sun never quite reaches the walls.”
Your breath caught. The warmth of his touch, the sincerity in his tone — it stole the air from the room. His gaze held yours, unflinching, and for a heartbeat you saw past the king and the charm — saw the man beneath it, raw and real.
His thumb lingered, tracing once more across your skin. “Don’t make me get used to that kind of silence again,” he murmured.
Masterlist
eighteen | twenty
a/n: finally i am backk!! it feels great to be back and writing again. i have this drafted for a while. also the next couple of chapter also had been written for a couple of weeks but sadly i haven't been able to revise nor proof read. i'll work harder. BTW what do you think about yunho's mood board?
Pairing: Ot8 Ateez x reader
AU: fantasy AU | stranger -> mates
Summary: In Hala, a house of eight kingdoms, each boasting its own wonders, you never imagined that amidst the pain, you would also fall—this time, in love.
Word Count: 3.4k | 14 mins
Warning: none?? probably a slight history about charadyn (mention of death). Please do not read if you are sensitive to such content.
The world dissolved into warmth.
Yunho’s lips were softer than you could have imagined. It felt steady, careful, as if he feared the moment might shatter if he pressed too hard. The taste of him was faintly sweet, like the honeyed wine you’d shared, mingled with the smoke of the chimney and the night air.
Every breath between you blurred; the edges of thought melted until there was only the press of his mouth, the tremor of your pulse, the unsteady rhythm of your forgotten breath.
A flutter rose in your chest — sharp, bright, impossible to contain. It spread through you like a spark catching kindling, a rush of heat and light that made your fingers tremble against him. The kiss deepened, and it felt like fireworks behind closed eyes — fleeting bursts of color, gone as quickly as they came, but leaving your heart racing in their wake.
He drew back just enough for air to find you both, though his forehead stayed against yours. His breath came rough, uneven, and when he spoke, it was barely more than a whisper. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured. You shook your head, your voice trembling but sure.
“Don’t stop.”
The morning broke soft and silver, the mist still clinging to the grass as the horses moved through the valley. Hooves drummed in a steady rhythm, muffled by the damp earth, and the faint scent of rain lingered in the air.
You sat before Yunho on his horse, the steady rise and fall of its stride rocking you gently in his hold. One of his hands rested firm around your stomach, anchoring you against him as the other guided the reins.
Every sway of the horse brought you closer, the movement unhurried and the silence between you strangely sweet. The warmth of him seeped through your back, his breath brushing the edge of your temple when he leaned forward slightly.
You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed this kind of silence — not the hollow kind that echoed in empty rooms, but the quiet that asked nothing of you. For once, you didn’t feel the need to guard your words or your thoughts. A part of you wanted to speak, to let him see the corners of you you’d kept hidden.
When you glanced up, you found him already looking down. There was something steady in his gaze, something that made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t quite name. It felt like warmth but deeper than that, it was understanding. And you found yourself wanting to trust it. To trust him. To trust them.
“Something amusing?” you murmured, trying not to sound breathless.
He tilted his head slightly, the ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Just thinking you fit here too easily.”
You meant to laugh, but the sound came softer than you intended. Your eyes met again, closer this time, and for a heartbeat neither of you looked away.
Then he looked forward again, urging the horse to a slower pace. But you could still feel his smile, lingering, reflected in your own.
“Yunho, stop being slow,” came a familiar voice ahead.
Both of you startled slightly, breaking apart just enough to see Hongjoong glancing back over his shoulder, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and impatience. Further along the road, the others were already a ways ahead — Mingi and Jongho riding side by side, their laughter carrying faintly through the mist, while Seonghwa led with quiet composure, his posture straight as ever. Yeosang trailed a little behind them, his head tilted as though listening to something in the wind, the sunlight beginning to catch on the pale edges of his wings.
Yunho exhaled a quiet laugh. “Jealous much?”
Hongjoong raised a brow, smirking. “Hardly. Some of us just plan to reach Charadyn this century.”
Yunho clicked his tongue, feigning offense. “We’ll be there soon enough, Your Majesty. Some of us just prefer not to break the horse before midday.”
Hongjoong rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, turning forward again with that half-smile you’d come to recognize, the kind that said he’d already won even without a word more.
You let out a small laugh under your breath, shaking your head. “You two are impossible.”
Yunho hummed, amusement lacing his tone. “You should see us during council meetings. This is us being civil.”
That earned another laugh from you, lighter this time. The air between you eased, the earlier tension fading into something easy and familiar.
The mist had begun to lift, giving way to clear skies that stretched pale and endless above. Hills rolled out ahead, flecked with stone and wildflowers, and in the far distance, the faint outline of mountains shimmered like glass.
Yunho’s hand shifted as he adjusted the reins. “If the weather holds, we’ll reach the foothills before night fall.”
You glanced up at the horizon. “Charadyn?”
He nodded, eyes forward. “The outer gates, at least. You’ll hear the city before you see it — the bells, the wings.”
A small smile tugged at your lips. “That loud?”
Yunho huffed a quiet laugh. “As loud as Wooyoung on festival day.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound carrying easily into the open air. “So deafening, then.”
“Exactly,” he said, grinning now.
The first thing you noticed was the sound.
Even before the city came fully into view, the air itself seemed to hum — a chorus of bells, wings, and voices that rose and fell like the tide. By the time the caravan reached the outer gates, Charadyn stretched before you in a blur of motion and color.
Banners of deep crimson and sun-worn gold rippled from high archways. Merchants called from their stalls in a dozen languages, their cries carried on the wind alongside the metallic clang of blacksmiths and the laughter of children darting through narrow alleys. The scent of spice and rain-warmed stone clung to the air — pepper and citrus, cardamom and sweet smoke, the faint bite of salt from the sea beyond the walls.
Your senses swam in it — too much, too vivid, too alive. After the long days of travel, it felt almost unreal.
Yunho slowed his horse near the gates, his hand resting lightly on your waist as his gaze swept the skyline. “Charadyn,” he murmured. “The city that never sleeps.”
Yunho guided the horse through the press of people until you reached the inner courtyard. Then, with his usual steady grace, he dismounted and turned to you, one arm sliding around your waist as he helped you down. His touch lingered just long enough for your breath to catch.
“About time!”
You turned toward the sound — and barely had the chance to blink before a blur of crimson and gold swept through the crowd.
“Morning, sweetheart.”
Wooyoung’s grin flashed a heartbeat before his arms caught you. With one swift motion, he spun you clean off your feet, laughter bubbling from him as easily as breath.
You squealed — startled, breathless, the world spinning in color around you. “Wooyoung!”
The laughter that left you felt freer than you expected. It startled you — the ease of it, the joy in being caught, even just for a heartbeat. Maybe you were tired of holding yourself so carefully.
“My lady!” he said, setting you back down but not quite letting go. “I thought Reed’s finest had forgotten how to ride.”
Yunho, still mounted, snorted. “We were enjoying the view.”
“Ah.” Wooyoung’s eyes gleamed, sliding toward you with deliberate mischief. “That explains the pace. If I had company like that, I wouldn’t rush either.”
You felt the heat rise instantly to your cheeks. “You’re impossible.”
“Undeniably,” he agreed. “But charming, too, aren’t I?”
“I hope you haven’t been boring her to tears with your heroics,” he added, flashing Yunho a grin.
“She was perfectly entertained,” Yunho said dryly.
Wooyoung laughed and nodded toward the line of carriages nearby. “Stuff from Reed also arrived. You might want to greet your people before they start thinking you’ve forgotten them.”
Yunho followed his gaze, then smiled faintly. “Right.”
Before he turned away, his eyes softened as they found yours — and then, almost without thought, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple.
It was quick, barely more than a breath, but it lingered.
Wooyoung gave a low whistle. “Well,” he said under his breath, eyes glinting. “If that’s how Reed says goodbye, I can’t wait to see how they say hello.”
When you looked up, Wooyoung was already watching you.
He was dressed differently today. A deep crimson cloak draped over his shoulders, threaded with veins of gold that shimmered when he moved. The fabric caught the light like liquid metal, the edges lined with patterns of indigo and bronze that shifted with every breeze. Beneath it, his tunic was a dark, fitted weave, cinched at the waist by a wide leather belt adorned with small sigils that glinted faintly blue.
Even his wings seemed to catch the light — broader, brighter, every feather gleaming as though Charadyn itself had crowned him in gold.
You, meanwhile, felt suddenly and acutely aware of yourself. The dust clinging to your boots. The dried sweat on your collar. The fact that you hadn’t bathed in two days and were still wearing the same travel-worn clothes from the road.
A pang of self-consciousness stirred and standing beside him, you couldn’t help but feel dim in comparison.
Wooyoung tilted his head, catching the flicker in your expression. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his grin softening. “You look like someone stole your bread.”
You huffed a laugh, trying to play it off. “Just realizing I’m… not exactly palace-ready.”
He chuckled, low and warm. “Sweetheart, you like as beautiful as the first ray of sun. Besides..” His gaze swept over you, lingering just long enough to make your pulse skip. “You wear exhaustion well. Almost makes it look intentional.”
You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth curved despite yourself.
Wooyoung grinned, clearly satisfied that he’d won the smallest of victories. “Come on,” he said, motioning toward the main halls where banners of gold and deep blue swayed in the breeze. “Let me show you the palace before someone drags me into another council meeting.”
You fell into step beside him, the sun spilling gold across the road ahead. From this distance, Charadyn seems to unfolded. Towers of pale stone arched toward the sky like frozen pillars of light, their spires veined with iridescence that shimmered faintly, as though alive with Atherion breath.
The nearer you drew, the clearer the sound became: the hum of wings, the echo of voices carried on the wind, the rhythmic clang of gates opening.
“You know,” Wooyoung said conversationally, breaking the quiet, “I forgot how overwhelming it can look to outsiders.”
You glanced up at him. “Overwhelming is one word.”
He smirked. “You’re not wrong. We like to make an entrance. Keeps the visiting nobles humble.”
“That sounds very Charadyn of you.”
“That’s because it is.” He winked. “Half ceremony, half theater. The trick is convincing everyone it’s all divine design.”
Your gaze followed the line of banners stretching toward the gates. “And the other half?”
“The other half,” he said, his grin sharpening, “is pretending you weren’t up until dawn arguing with your generals.”
You laughed before you could stop yourself. “Sounds like you speak from experience.”
“I never argue,” Wooyoung replied easily. “I persuade. Loudly.”
The two of you reached the first archway, its marble columns carved with sweeping winged forms. Guards in crested armor bowed as Wooyoung passed, their eyes flicking curiously toward you. You fought the urge to shrink under their gaze, but Wooyoung only tilted his head toward you with an easy smile, subtle, but enough to draw attention away rather than toward.
Inside, the air cooled. The vast inner court opened before you in a blaze of color—gardens spilling with silver blossoms, water channels reflecting the banners overhead, and at the far end, the great palace itself.
You stopped without meaning to. “It’s…”
“Too much?” Wooyoung offered.
You shook your head slowly. “Beautiful.”
He smiled at that, softer this time, the teasing gone from his tone. “Then it’s done its job.” He turned, offering his hand. “Come on. I’ll take you through the east terrace—it’s quieter there. Fewer eyes.”
You hesitated for half a breath before taking it. His fingers were warm, sure.
As he led you beneath the arched walkway, the palace seemed to come alive around you. Light filtered through latticed windows, scattering like broken jewels across marble floors veined in gold. Columns rose tall and intricate, carved with patterns of feathers, vines, and constellations that shimmered faintly with inlaid crystal. The scent of jasmine and amber hung in the air, carried by the faint whisper of fountains hidden behind archways.
He led you down a hall that unfolded into a wide courtyard washed in the fading glow of dusk. Paths of blue and ivory tile glimmered beneath your feet, leading to a fountain sculpted like a pair of unfurled wings, its waters scattering light in a hundred tiny reflections. Around it, velvet lounges and cushioned alcoves in deep crimson and teal invited rest amid palms and flowering trees stretching toward the sky. Sunlight streamed through tall, arched windows traced with delicate filigree, casting shifting patterns across the marble floor. The air was cool and fragrant with sandalwood and parchment.
“This,” Wooyoung said, his voice dipping low with quiet pride, “is Solara Court. Where the first king of Charadyn received his wings.”
You turned to him, wide-eyed. “It’s beautiful.”
“It should be,” he murmured, his gaze tracing the sunlight on the water. “He died here too.”
The words lingered, soft and heavy as dust motes in the air.
“But Charadyn remembers,” he added after a moment, glancing back at you with a faint smile. “Even when the rest of us forget.”
Wooyoung’s steps echoed lightly beside you. “Most people come here for the ceiling,” he said, his tone light but reverent.
You looked up.
The ceiling unfurled like a living sky, vast wings painted across its curve, each feather traced in gold and blue, their tips dissolving into a swirl of stars. Between them, faint script wound through the constellations, glowing softly where sunlight kissed the gold leaf.
“Every wing,” Wooyoung said quietly, “belongs to a house of Charadyn. Each one bears the colors and sigils of those who ascended, families who completed the ceremony and earned their place in the sky.”
Your gaze traced the gilded arcs overhead. “There are hundreds.”
“Thousands,” he corrected gently. “Some say every feather is a name that history forgot.”
You turned to him. “And yours?”
Wooyoung’s smile flickered, the kind that never reached his eyes. “Mine isn’t there yet.”
“Yet?” you echoed.
He shrugged one shoulder, glancing up again. “They only add a king’s wings when his reign ends. Which means I’ll either be dead or dethroned. Neither option’s particularly exciting.”
The quiet that followed was strange — not heavy, but thoughtful. You found your gaze following his, the ceiling’s painted light reflected faintly in his eyes.
You watched him.
The way the sunlight caught in his hair, the way his eyes softened when he looked at this place. In that instant, beneath all the teasing and charm, you saw something deeper. A man who carried history not just in his blood, but in his bones.
"You are a great king, Wooyoung.”
He smiled at you. After a moment, he broke it with a softer tone. “I used to sneak in here as a boy,” he said. “Before I had any titles. Before I realized how much weight comes with them. I thought the names on the ceiling were… watching. Guiding us. But when you get older, you realize history doesn’t watch anyone. It just waits to see who ends up written next.”
You smiled faintly, your voice light. “You sound like someone who’s spent too much time staring at ceilings.”
Wooyoung chuckled under his breath. “Maybe I have. They tend to listen better than most of my council.”
The tension eased, replaced by something quieter—something almost easy. He turned from the painted wings above and nodded toward the corridor. “Come on. You’ve had a long journey. I should at least show you where you’ll be staying before someone steals you away for another tour.”
You followed as he led the way out of the gallery, the echo of your footsteps soft against the marble. The palace grew calmer as the halls stretched on; servants moved like whispers, lanterns glowed warm against the cool stone, and the scent of blooming lilies drifted through open arches.
“You’ll be staying in the northern wing,” Wooyoung said as you walked. “It’s far enough from the council chambers that you won’t have to hear me shouting at anyone before breakfast.”
You laughed softly. “I appreciate the consideration.”
He gave a small shrug. “You’ve earned it. Not many survive a day in Charadyn without asking to be sent home.”
“I’m still deciding if I should.”
He glanced sideways, grinning. “Then I’ll just have to change your mind.”
Wooyoung slowed near a set of carved doors, their frames lined with silver filigree that shimmered faintly in the dim light. He brushed a hand across the sigil at the center, and the doors eased open with a low hum.
“Here,” he said, stepping aside for you to enter.
The room beyond was bathed in light. Sheer drapes stirred in the evening breeze, carrying the sound of distant fountains. Sunlight filtered through draped silks of amber and rose, the glow turning the walls to gold. Cushions and throws in deep jewel tones—sapphire, magenta, and marigold—spilled across a sunken nook beneath tall arched windows veiled in vines and flowers. The air carried the soft scent of jasmine and rain-soaked leaves drifting in from the gardens below.
In the center of the room stood a vast circular bed swathed in violet fabric and shimmering gauze, its canopy crowned with a chandelier that scattered fragments of light like stars. Every corner breathed comfort, from the low tables set with golden dishes to the faint murmur of wind through the curtains. It was a place that invited quiet, a private world of softness and dusk-colored dreams, untouched by the grandeur of the palace beyond its doors. A balcony overlooked the gardens below, where torchlight flickered like fireflies among the trees.
You turned back to him. “This is…”
He smiled, hands sliding loosely behind his back. “Charadyn hospitality. Try to act impressed.”
You laughed quietly. “I am impressed. It is beautiful”
He leaned casually against the doorframe, watching you. “Charadyn has a habit of showing off.”
“Does that include its king?” you asked, glancing back at him.
For once, he didn’t have an answer right away. His composure slipped — just barely — a flicker of surprise passing through his eyes before his lips curved again, slower this time, as if unsure whether to tease or tell the truth.
Wooyoung’s gaze lingered on you, his usual poise wavering under the weight of something quieter. The playful retort that hovered on his tongue never came. Instead, he let out a soft exhale, his smile faltering into something gentler.
“Maybe,” he said at last, his voice low. “But only when someone’s worth showing off for.”
You felt the words settle in your chest, heavier than their easy tone implied. The air between you warmed, the light from the chandelier scattering faint gold across his face.
He pushed away from the doorframe, taking a slow step forward. “You should rest,” he said, though his tone lacked conviction — as if he wasn’t entirely ready to leave.
You nodded with a small smile. “Dinner will be brought up to your room. The summits begin tomorrow, and you might have a visit from San — he’s been missing you.”
“Did you miss me?” you blurted before you could stop yourself.
Wooyoung’s smile softened, the edges of his composure fading as his hand lifted to your face. His thumb brushed gently along your cheek, slow and careful, as if he were afraid the moment might shatter if he moved too fast.
“A day without you,” he said quietly, his voice hushed but steady, “feels like the sun never quite reaches the walls.”
Your breath caught. The warmth of his touch, the sincerity in his tone — it stole the air from the room. His gaze held yours, unflinching, and for a heartbeat you saw past the king and the charm — saw the man beneath it, raw and real.
His thumb lingered, tracing once more across your skin. “Don’t make me get used to that kind of silence again,” he murmured.
Masterlist
eighteen | twenty
a/n: finally i am backk!! it feels great to be back and writing again. i have this drafted for a while. also the next couple of chapter also had been written for a couple of weeks but sadly i haven't been able to revise nor proof read. i'll work harder. BTW what do you think about yunho's mood board?
i apologize for the lack of updates, i’ve been stuck on my studies. i’m not sure if i will update anytime soon but tomorrow will be my finals.
i have been having a hard time adjusting this new semester. i’ve never felt so stressed out before from uni.
i hope to write soon and make up for my lack of updates. i have so much plan and it kills me that i haven’t been able to share it yet due to real life circumstances.
i love you all and i hope you can keep waiting for more updates.
A side tale of His Majesty King Yunho, the sovereign ruler of Reed from the New World.
Warnings: This story contains themes of instances of psychological and emotional distress, and intense pressure of royal expectations, which may be unsettling or distressing to some readers.
Reed was always quiet. Snow blanketed the land, muffling sound, and the sea beyond its icy cliffs whispered rather than roared. It had always been this way—calm, steady, enduring. And so was its young prince.
At twelve, Yunho already carried the stillness of his kingdom. He was not the kind of boy to chatter or rush ahead. He walked through the halls of his home with quiet steps, listening more than speaking. His father once told him that a ruler must be like the ice—strong, unyielding, and steady enough to hold the weight of those who relied on him.
His father was a man of few words. His presence alone was enough to command the room, and his gaze, sharp as a blade, often left others stiff and cautious. The people of Reed respected him, even feared him. He ruled with a kind of discipline that left little room for warmth.
But Yunho never feared his father.
It wasn’t that the king was kind—not in the way his mother was, with soft words and gentle hands—but he had never been cruel. His love was not something given freely but shown in ways most wouldn’t notice. He never raised his voice, but Yunho had always known that when he spoke, it mattered. And when the winter storms raged the hardest, the king would always check the fires in Yunho’s room before retiring for the night.
Even now, Yunho knew that if he ever fell, his father’s hand would be the one to pull him back up.
Though Reed’s lands were frozen, its palace never was. His home was proof of that. The fires were always burning, and love—though not loud—was always present.
So the cold never reached the dining hall of the royal palace. Though Reed was a land of ice and silence, the long wooden table where the royal family dined was always warm, the golden glow of candlelight flickering against the frost-covered windows.
Yunho sat in his usual place, across from his father and beside his mother, the quiet hum of supper filling the space. The clinking of silverware, the occasional crackle of firewood—it was peaceful, the kind of silence Yunho had grown to understand.
His mother, the Queen, was the only one who would truly disrupted it.
She talked. A lot.
“…and then I told the steward that if he ever let the kitchen run out of spiced wine again, I would personally drag him to the market myself! Can you imagine, Aldric? A winter feast without spiced wine? Unthinkable!”
Yunho listened, like he always did. His mother’s words flowed like a gentle stream, warm and endless. She talked about the servants, about the state of the marketplace, about the latest gossip among the noblewomen. None of it was particularly important, but it filled the space in a way that made their home feel… alive.
It was because of her that Yunho had learned to listen. Not just to words, but to the things left unsaid—the way voices shifted, the meaning behind pauses.
And because he listened, he noticed things.
Like the way his father always sat with his hands folded neatly over the table, barely speaking unless necessary. Or the way he never interrupted his wife’s ramblings, even when she exaggerated her stories.
And most of all, Yunho noticed the small, nearly invisible smile that would tug at the corner of the king’s lips whenever the queen made a joke.
His father never laughed outright, never shook with mirth the way others did. But there was always that subtle curve to his mouth, the way his eyes softened ever so slightly.
No one else ever seemed to catch it.
But Yunho did.
“…and then, oh, you should have seen his face when I told him the cat had eaten half the pastries before they even made it to the banquet hall! I thought he would faint right then and there!”
Silence. A long pause. Then—
A quiet exhale from the king. Not quite a laugh. But something close.
Yunho felt something warm settle in his chest.
This was what people outside of Reed didn’t understand. They thought of his father as cold, untouchable. But Yunho knew better. He saw the small things—the way his father checked the windows in their rooms at night, adjusted the blanket when they were asleep, the way he always walked beside them on icy paths, ensuring neither he nor his mother would slip.
Love didn’t have to be loud.
It could be silent, like falling snow.
And as Yunho picked up his cup of warm cider, listening to his mother’s next story, he thought that perhaps, in this small, quiet way, he was just like his father.
That night, after dinner, Yunho sat in the study with his father. The room was dimly lit, the glow of the fireplace casting long shadows against the stone walls. His father sat across from him, silent as always, reading over a letter sealed with an unfamiliar crest.
Yunho waited. He had learned from his father that silence always came before something important.
Finally, the king set the letter down. His sharp gaze met Yunho’s.
“Aeros will be visiting,” he said simply.
Yunho blinked. Aeros—the kingdom of the sky. The one that never stayed still. Unlike Reed, where discipline and order shaped daily life, Aeros was not known for its structure. Its people were free-spirited, drifting like the winds they lived upon.
“Why?” he asked.
His father leaned back slightly. “The Pact of the Eight Seals is still new. Bonds must be built, even among those who are… different.”
It had only been a short time since the Pact of the Eight Seals was signed, a fragile peace forming between the kingdoms. As a gesture of goodwill, Reed had invited a delegation from Aeros.
Yunho understood. He had heard enough political talk at court to know that peace did not come from words alone. It had to be maintained, strengthened. Even if it meant welcoming the wind into the land of ice.
His father studied him for a moment, as if gauging his thoughts. “Their prince is your age.”
Yunho wasn’t sure if that was meant to reassure him. If anything, it only raised more questions.
“…What is he like?”
King Aldric exhaled, glancing at the letter once more. “Restless.” A pause. Then, a faint, almost amused glint in his eyes. “You will see soon enough.”
He stood from his chair, reaching for the clasp of his heavy navy cloak. With a practiced motion, he unfastened it, letting the thick fabric slide off his shoulders before draping it over the chair. Beneath it, he wore only a simple tunic—practical, unadorned, yet somehow making him appear no less regal.
Yunho’s eyes flickered to the silver chain around his father’s neck. A wolf’s head, carved from dark metal, rested against his chest. The sapphire embedded in its eye shimmered under the pale glow of the moon filtering through the frosted window. His mother had made that necklace for him long ago, a rare personal gift from a woman who loved grand gestures.
His father caught Yunho staring but said nothing. Instead, he straightened, his expression returning to its usual unreadable calm.
“I need you to be on your best behavior,” he said. His voice was steady, firm—but not unkind.
Yunho nodded immediately. He had never needed reminders of how to behave. Still, the fact that his father was saying this now meant that Aeros was… different.
Different enough to warrant caution.
The winds howled over the snow-covered cliffs, sweeping through the frozen expanse where Reed and Aeros met. Yunho stood beside his parents at the border, wrapped in a thick fur-lined cloak. His breath formed pale clouds in the cold air, but he barely noticed. His sharp eyes were fixed on the sky.
Aeros had arrived.
A fleet of floating carriages, pulled by massive winged beasts, glided down with effortless grace. Dark shapes emerged from the clouds first—winged, powerful, gliding with effortless grace through the cold wind. Then, the sun caught them, revealing massive dragons in deep shades of blue and gold, their scales gleaming under the pale winter light. The creatures flapped their immense wings once before landing with a soft crunch against the frost-covered ground. The banners of Aeros, light blue and gold, rippled in the wind.
Yunho held his ground as the beasts landed, snow billowing from the force of their arrival. The dragons’ breath steamed against the freezing air, their massive chests rising and falling in sync. Gold-plated saddles gleamed along their backs, carrying the figures of Aerosian royals and their guards.
The moment the first carriage door opened, King Aldric stepped forward. He did not hesitate, did not pause to study his guests. As soon as King Hadrian of Aeros emerged, the two men met at the center of the clearing.
The difference between them was stark.
Aldric, wrapped in winter’s quiet authority, carried himself with measured strength. His posture was firm, unyielding, his silver-grey gaze unreadable beneath the heavy weight of the cold.
Hadrian was his opposite. Dressed in flowing layers that moved with the breeze, he had an air of effortless confidence. His golden hair was windswept, his sky-blue eyes holding an easy warmth that did not match the frozen ground beneath his feet.
They clasped hands firmly—A moment of silent understanding passed between them. Then, a small nod.
The peace held.
Yunho barely had time to process the interaction before movement caught his eye. His mother, Queen Lysandra, had already stepped past his father. Before Yunho could blink, she wrapped the Queen of Aeros in a firm embrace.
"Lysandra!" Queen Evelyne’s voice was bright with laughter as she returned the hug. "It has been far too long!"
"Far too long," his mother agreed, pulling back just enough to study her friend’s face. "Look at you! Still floating through life as if gravity doesn’t apply to you."
Evelyne grinned, her golden curls bouncing as she tilted her head. "And you, still trying to freeze time itself. How does Aldric stand it?"
His mother smirked. "Patience."
Yunho caught it again—the almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his father’s lips.
So their queens were friends. That explained why this meeting felt less like a tense negotiation and more like a long-overdue reunion.
Still, Yunho kept his back straight, his expression composed. He knew better than to assume the visit would remain this lighthearted.
The coat draped over his small frame was clearly too big, its fabric flowing around him with every movement. The crown on his head sat slightly askew, and in all honesty, even the crest resting against his chest hung crookedly, as if everything about him refused to stay in place.
Prince Mingi.
The boy he was expected to befriend.
The grand hall of Reed’s castle was a fortress against the winter’s bite, warmed by roaring hearths and the steady glow of lanterns. Though the stone walls carried the weight of history, tonight, they stood witness to something far more personal—the meeting of two kingdoms, of two kings, of two sons.
King Aldric spoke first. “Welcome to Reed. I expect the journey was not too harsh?” His voice was steady, unshaken by the cold winds that whistled through the cliffs.
Hadrian chuckled, adjusting the leather gloves on his hands. “Not at all. A little ice never frightened an Aerosian.” He cast a glance at his son. “Mingi enjoyed himself, didn’t you?”
Mingi grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “The winds were rough, but nothing too bad.” He turned to Yunho, his eyes glinting with a playful edge. “The skies were beautiful up there. Have you ever flown that high before?”
Yunho met his gaze evenly. “Reed’s winds do not welcome careless flying.” His tone was polite, but firm. He had learned from his father that words did not need to be sharp to cut.
Mingi blinked, then let out a small chuckle. “So, no then.”
King Aldric gestured between them. “My son, Prince Yunho.” His eyes flickered toward the boy standing beside Hadrian. “And this is your son?”
Hadrian rested a hand on Mingi’s shoulder. “Prince Mingi.” He grinned slightly. “Restless, as I warned.”
“Unruly,” Aldric responded dryly.
Hadrian laughed. “Aeros does not raise silent sons.”
Yunho stole a glance at his father, noting the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. It disappeared as quickly as it came.
Evelyne sighed dramatically. “Let’s hope this visit does not end in a diplomatic disaster.”
Lysandra smirked. “With boys, that is always a risk.”
As their fathers disappeared behind heavy doors, diving into matters of state, and their mothers settled into quiet conversation by the hearth, Yunho found himself in an entirely different battle.
He was left alone with Prince Mingi.
And Mingi could talk.
“Oh, wow, the halls here are huge. Are they all like this? I thought Reed would be more—oh, I don’t know—compact? Maybe because of the cold? But no, everything’s just tall, and sharp, and dramatic. Actually, that fits. You guys are kind of dramatic, in a cold, quiet way—hey, do you actually like it here? Don’t you get bored? No offense, but everything is just so still.”
Yunho blinked.
Mingi was still talking.
“Back home, there’s always something moving, you know? The islands shift, the winds shift, people shift—like, we’re never just still. Even the air’s different. Here, it’s thick, like it’s trying to slow me down. But maybe that’s just me. Anyway, what do you do for fun?”
Yunho finally found an opening. “…Fun?”
“Yes, fun! You do know what that is, right?”
Yunho stared at him blankly.
Mingi let out a groan, slumping forward dramatically. “Oh, this is going to be harder than I thought.”
Yunho had never met anyone who talked more than his mother. He wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or exhausted.
And yet, despite himself, he found that he didn’t mind it. Mingi talked enough for the both of them, and Yunho, a boy of few words, found it oddly… convenient. He didn’t have to fill the silence. He didn’t have to search for the right thing to say. He could just listen.
And strangely, he found himself replying more than he expected.
By the time the evening stretched on, Yunho had led Mingi through the halls, past the towering windows where the frost clung thickly to the glass, down to the practice grounds where the snow had been cleared, and to the stables where their dragons were resting from the long flight.
“Okay, I’ll admit,” Mingi said, running a hand along the dark scales of his dragon’s snout. “Your home is pretty cool.”
Yunho raised a brow. “You thought it wouldn’t be?”
Mingi grinned. “Not cool like cold—cool like… cool.” He turned to him, eyes glinting mischievously. “You know, you’re not bad either, Prince Yunho.”
Yunho regarded him for a moment, then exhaled softly. “Neither are you… Prince Mingi.”
Mingi threw an arm around his shoulder. “Ah, see? We’re already getting along.”
Yunho sighed, but didn’t pull away.
The days that followed passed in a quiet blur.
Despite their differences, Yunho found himself constantly in Mingi’s company. Wherever he went, the Aerosian prince followed—talking, questioning, dragging him into conversations he never intended to have. The stillness of Reed had never been so thoroughly disrupted.
Mingi had a habit of filling every quiet moment with words, and Yunho, to his own surprise, had grown accustomed to it. He didn’t always reply, but Mingi never seemed to mind. Sometimes, Yunho caught himself answering before he even realized it.
And now, the visit was nearing its end.
But Mingi had never been one to sit still, and certainly not on his last night in Reed. Which was exactly why Mingi had no hesitation in roping Yunho into one of his infamous schemes.
“Come on,” he urged, nudging Yunho’s arm. “One last adventure before I leave.”
Yunho gave him a flat look. “It’s dinner soon.”
“Exactly! That’s why we need to do something before we get stuck at the table listening to the adults talk about taxes and treaties.” Mingi’s grin was all trouble, eyes alight with mischief. “We should do something memorable.”
Yunho’s gaze flickered toward him warily. He had learned by now that Mingi’s idea of "memorable" often meant something reckless. “Like what?”
Mingi hummed in exaggerated thought, tapping his chin before snapping his fingers. “Let’s swap the dinner menu.”
Yunho stopped walking. He turned his head slowly, staring. “…What?”
Mingi leaned in, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “Think about it. Every meal has been exactly the same. Stiff, formal, perfectly arranged—just like you.” His smirk deepened. “Let’s shake things up. We’ll swap out the dishes for something fun.”
“That is not how royal dinners work.”
Mingi shrugged, rocking back on his heels. “Who says? You’re a prince. I’m a prince. We have some say in this, don’t we?”
Yunho’s jaw tightened. It was ridiculous. It was unnecessary. It was—
His steps slowed.
For a moment, he let himself consider it.
The meals in Reed were orderly, structured. Every dish prepared with precision, every course placed with meticulous care. A reflection of the kingdom itself. A reflection of him.
And yet, as he thought about it, something itched at the back of his mind. A memory of the way Mingi had laughed freely over meals, of how, even in the cold halls of Reed, his presence had felt like movement, like something warm pressing against the stillness.
Yunho exhaled, rubbing his fingers against his temple. This was absurd. He would regret it.
“…Fine.”
Mingi nearly jumped in place. “I knew there was a troublemaker somewhere in you. Let’s go to the kitchen.”
Yunho barely had time to regret his decision before Mingi grabbed his wrist and tugged him along, weaving through the halls of Reed’s castle with practiced ease. Yunho could only assume that Mingi had memorized the layout better than he had intended—or more likely, had spent the past few days sneaking around where he shouldn’t.
By the time they slipped into the kitchen, Yunho’s pulse had settled into something steady, almost expectant. The kitchen was warm, a sharp contrast to the cold stone corridors outside. The scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread filled the air, but the kitchen staff barely spared them a glance. Whether it was because they were too busy or because they knew better than to question princes, Yunho wasn’t sure.
Mingi didn’t hesitate. He strode forward, surveying the counters filled with carefully plated dishes. “Alright,” he said, spinning to face Yunho, “what’s Reed’s best dish?”
Yunho blinked, immediately recalling the structured courses of a formal dinner—rich venison stews, carefully layered fish dishes, roasted meats arranged with mathematical precision. Everything had an order, a process, a reason.
Mingi groaned before Yunho could answer. “Forget it. I can already tell you’re about to say something boring. Let’s make it fun.” He grabbed the labels.
Mingi’s grin widened as he grabbed a quill and dipped it in ink. “Since Reed is cold, what if we swapped the royal food orders and made dessert the main course?”
Yunho stared at him. The idea was absurd—an outright disruption of the structured balance that defined Reed’s traditions. And yet… it was amusing. More than that, it was tempting.
Mingi arched a brow, waiting for Yunho’s rejection, for the stiff prince to dismiss him with the same practiced formality he had done countless times before. But instead, Yunho found himself exhaling a quiet chuckle.
He reached for the parchment.
Mingi nearly dropped the quill in shock before hastily shoving it into Yunho’s hand. “Now you’re getting it,” he whispered excitedly, watching as Yunho carefully copied the course order in his neat, measured script—only now, warm honeyed pastries, fruit tarts, and ice sorbets sat where roasted meats and spiced stews should have been.
They slipped the parchment back into place. The deed was done.
The boys barely made it out before the head chef returned, his voice rising into a furious string of curses.
“Who keeps changing the royal food orders mere HOURS before the dinner?!” The man’s bellow carried through the halls, followed by the frantic clatter of pots and chopping knives.
Yunho and Mingi ducked behind a stone column, listening as the kitchen erupted into controlled chaos. The staff scrambled to adjust, barking orders to one another as the revised list was set into motion.
Mingi clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter, his shoulders trembling. Yunho, still pressed against the cold stone, felt his pulse hammering in his throat. It was reckless. It was utterly improper.
And yet—
A slow, unfamiliar warmth curled in his chest.
He glanced at Mingi, whose eyes sparkled with unrestrained glee, and something about the moment made Yunho want to hold onto it just a little longer.
For once, he wasn’t just the son of King Aldric.
He was simply a boy, caught in a moment of foolish rebellion with his newfound friend.
The dining hall was filled with the low hum of conversation as nobles and esteemed guests settled into their seats. Yunho, now dressed in formal attire, still found himself chuckling softly with Mingi as they made their way to the long banquet table. The lingering amusement from their mischief clung to him, making him feel strangely weightless despite the usual stiffness of royal gatherings.
The first course was served—something normal, a light broth with freshly baked bread. The dinner proceeded as expected, conversations flowing, goblets filled, and the warmth of candlelight flickering across the polished silverware.
Then, the main course arrived.
The grand trays were uncovered, revealing delicate honeyed pastries, layered fruit tarts, and elegantly sculpted ice sorbets, their frosted surfaces glistening under the candlelight. Chilled berry soufflés and spiced snowdrift puddings sat alongside plates of frozen cream drizzled with syrup, each dish a vision of winter’s embrace. A ripple of confusion passed through the room. Murmurs started, nobles exchanging bewildered glances as a meal of decadence and cold sweetness took the place of the expected rich meats and hearty stews.
Across the table, Yunho and Mingi stifled their laughter—until Yunho made the mistake of looking up.
His father’s gaze was fixed on him, cold and hard, cutting through the flickering candlelight like a blade of ice.
Yunho swallowed, his amusement dying in an instant. He straightened in his chair, forcing his expression into neutrality.
Sensing the shift in mood, his mother, Queen Lysandra, quickly stepped in, offering a graceful smile. “We enjoy the cold,” she said smoothly, lifting a delicate fork to her plate. “So it is only fitting that we have dessert as our main course.”
A pause.
Then, to Yunho’s relief, laughter broke the tension—first from Queen Evelyne, who clapped her hands together, and then from King Hadrian, whose booming chuckle filled the hall.
“Well,” Hadrian mused, lifting a spoonful of custard, “Aerosians do love a little chaos at the table.”
Mingi beamed, nudging Yunho under the table as if to say, See? That wasn’t so bad.
But Yunho wasn’t sure whether he had truly escaped unscathed. His father had yet to say a word.
Even as dinner continued, Yunho was shaking in his seat. He barely touched his plate, his appetite drowned by the weight of his father’s gaze. Every so often, he stole subtle glances in his direction, but even in the midst of his discussion with King Hadrian, Aldric’s eyes never truly left him. It was a silent warning, a cold pressure that settled over Yunho’s shoulders like the frost outside the castle walls.
By the time the meal drew to a close, Yunho felt the tension in his chest tighten. The royal family of Aeros had retired for the night, preparing for their long journey home at dawn. The nobles slowly trickled out of the hall, laughter and conversation fading into the distance. Yunho had just started to rise from his chair when his father’s voice cut through the air like ice.
“Yunho. Come with me.”
Yunho stiffened. His fingers clenched around the fabric of his tunic before he quickly let go, willing himself to move.
Before he could take a step, his mother spoke up, her voice gentle yet firm. “Aldric, don’t be so hard on him.”
Her words lingered between them, a soft plea against the unyielding cold. But Yunho knew better than to hope for leniency. His father did not raise silent sons, but neither did he raise careless ones.
The halls of Reed’s castle had always been cold, but tonight, the chill seeped into Yunho’s bones in a way that had nothing to do with the weather outside. His legs felt stiff as he walked, his usually steady pace disrupted by the weight pressing against his chest. The silence between him and his father was thick, stretching unbearably with each step toward the study. Every footfall echoed, ringing loud in Yunho’s ears, but even louder was the sound of his own heartbeat, thudding relentlessly against his ribs.
The bile in his throat rose each time he tried to swallow it down. He had never feared his father before—not truly. King Aldric was not cruel. He did not shout, nor did he strike. His discipline was ice, not fire—measured, controlled, and absolute. But for the first time, Yunho wondered if tonight would be different. If the king would finally break his cold exterior and raise his voice.
They reached the heavy wooden doors of the study. Aldric pushed them open without a word, stepping inside first. Yunho followed, his fingers twitching at his sides as he crossed the threshold. The room was dimly lit, the glow of the fireplace casting flickering shadows along the stone walls. Stacks of parchment lay neatly on the desk, the faint scent of ink and parchment mingling with the ever-present chill of the room.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Yunho stood frozen, his gaze fixed downward, unwilling to meet his father’s eyes. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, as if bracing himself for whatever punishment was to come. He could feel the weight of his father’s stare—heavy, unreadable, and utterly suffocating.
Then, cutting through the silence, he heard something unexpected.
A laugh.
Deep, quiet, and unmistakably amused.
Yunho’s head snapped up in disbelief.
King Aldric was laughing. Not the sharp, humorless exhale Yunho had heard in court, nor the rare amused huff he sometimes allowed when Yunho’s mother made a particularly ridiculous joke. No, this was different—low and rumbling, as if he were holding back.
Yunho remained stiff, unable to process what he was witnessing. His father—Reed’s cold and unshakable king—stood with one hand resting on his desk, his shoulders slightly shaking, his navy cloak barely settled from where he had tossed it aside. His piercing gaze, usually so controlled, flickered with something unreadable.
"You switched the royal menu," Aldric finally said, his voice still carrying a trace of laughter.
Yunho swallowed. "Yes, Father."
"And you thought no one would notice?"
Yunho hesitated, glancing toward the floor again. He had thought about arguing, about explaining that technically, it had still been a proper meal, just in an unusual order. But that line of defense felt laughable now.
"I—" He bit his tongue, realizing there was no reasonable excuse.
Aldric regarded him for a long moment, then, to Yunho’s utter shock, the corners of his lips twitched. "It was amusing, my son."
Yunho’s eyes snapped up, searching his father’s face for any sign of deception. But there was none. The words were spoken with a rare, fleeting warmth—gone as quickly as they had come.
His father did not laugh again, nor did he offer any further praise. But somehow, that single sentence felt heavier than any reprimand. Aldric exhaled sharply, shaking his head. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and for a split second, Yunho tensed. But instead of scolding him, his father merely placed a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"You are my son," Aldric murmured. "Not once have I ever doubted that."
Yunho blinked, confused by the shift in tone.
"But Reed is not Aeros," his father continued. "We do not act on whimsy. We do not indulge in reckless amusements. You will be king one day, and kings do not play." His grip tightened, not painfully, but firmly enough that Yunho felt the weight of every word. "You are free to find humor, but never forget your duty."
Yunho nodded automatically, but Aldric did not release him.
"You do not fear me, do you?"
The question caught him off guard. Yunho's lips parted slightly before he forced them shut. His father had never asked something like that before.
"I respect you," Yunho answered carefully.
Aldric's expression did not change, but Yunho thought he saw something in his gaze—something softer, deeper, just for a moment.
"Good," his father said at last, stepping back. "Then be worthy of that respect."
Yunho straightened his back. "Yes, Father."
The king studied him for a moment longer before turning toward his desk. "Go to bed. It’s late."
Yunho hesitated before bowing his head. He turned to leave, pausing briefly at the door. For a moment, he thought about saying something more—something about how Mingi had convinced him, or how he hadn’t meant any real harm. But the words felt unnecessary.
Instead, he simply murmured, "Goodnight, Father."
King Aldric did not look up from his papers, but Yunho caught the faintest dip of his head, acknowledging him.
And for the first time that night, Yunho let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Spin-Off Masterlist | New World Masterlist
eighteen | CURRENT | nineteen
a/n: finally the long awaied spin off is here! this is the second side tale i've wrote for the kings. a little background of yunho's family and why he is so attentive. i think mingi and yunho have such a good relationship in real life so i implemented here. plus the story is really funny to write, and his mother is just such a sweetheart (y/n reminds him of his mother). i think its such an eye opener on why yunho is such a sweet kid in this story. and grew up to be such a mature man even though he is quite strict and cold.
I swear upon my name, my blood, and the mark I bear. As the crown rests upon me, I am no longer my own, but a vessel of my people, a guardian of my land, and a keeper of Hala.
My wings shall shield, my voice shall guide, and my hands shall build a legacy worthy of those before me.
From this day forth, I am not prince, but a king.
And as king, I shall serve, until the winds carry me home
A side tale of the Kings in New World.
⋆༺𓆩 𝑲𝒊𝒎 𝑯𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒋𝒐𝒐𝒏𝒈 𓆪༻⋆
who am i to say what any of this means?
i have been sleepwalkin' since i was fourteen
now as I write my song, i retrace my steps honestly
it’s easier to let myself forget
nine by sleeping at last
Synopsis: The tryant.
Word Count: in writing.
Warnings: in writing.
[...]
⋆༺𓆩 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑺𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒘𝒂 𓆪༻⋆
Like a force to be reckoned with
A mighty ocean or a gentle kiss
I will love you with everySingle thing I have
two by sleeping at last
Synopsis: The remedy.
Word Count: in writing.
Warnings: in writing.
[...]
⋆༺𓆩 𝑱𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒖𝒏𝒉𝒐 𓆪༻⋆
'cause in this city's barren cold
i still remember the first fall of snow
and how it glistened as it fell
i remember it all too well
all to well by taylor swift
Synopsis: The warmth.
Word Count: 4.9k
Warnings: This story contains themes of instances of intense pressure of royal expectations, which may be unsettling or distressing to some readers.
[READ HERE]
⋆༺𓆩 𝑲𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒆𝒐𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒈 𓆪༻⋆
i remember the minute
it was like a switch was flipped
i was just a kid who grew up strong enough
to pick this armor up
and suddenly it fit
eight by sleeping at last
Synopsis: The steel.
Word Count: 4.4k
Warnings: This story contains themes of loss, hardship, grief/death, emotional and physical trauma, graphic depictions of injury, portrayal of violence and the intense pressure of royal expectations, which may be unsettling or distressing to some readers.
[...]
⋆༺𓆩 𝑪𝒉𝒐𝒊 𝑺𝒂𝒏 𓆪༻⋆
in this game of hide and seek
i can’t help but think that ordinary has swallowed the key
bodies fashioned out of dirt and dust
for a moment we get to be glorious
four by sleeping at last
Synopsis: The heir.
Word Count: in writing.
Warnings: in writing.
[...]
⋆༺𓆩 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒊 𓆪༻⋆
Awake in the sky
We break up so high, alright
Let's make it our own,
Let's savor it
where no one goes by john powell and jónsi
Synopsis: The free.
Word Count: 4.8k
Warnings: This story contains themes of endangerment (mingi falling of a dragon), near-death experiences, hypothermia and survival, depictions of injury and first aid, peril involving falling from heights, animal injury, and the intense weight of royal expectation, which may be unsettling or distressing to some readers.
[...]
⋆༺𓆩 𝑱𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝑾𝒐𝒐𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒈 𓆪༻⋆
i aim my arrow, i'll dedicate all of this eternal flame to you
i aim my arrow, i'll give you all of this moment that will never fade
sagittarius by wooyoung
Synopsis: The fire.
Word Count: 4.3k
Warnings: This story contains themes of the heavy weight of royal duty, emotional expectations from family and faith, and depictions of overwhelming responsibility, which may be unsettling or distressing to some readers.
[SOON…]
⋆༺𓆩 𝑪𝒉𝒐𝒊 𝑱𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒐 𓆪༻⋆
i want to sing a song worth singing,
i’ll write an anthem worth repeating,
I want to feel the transformation,
the melody of reformation.
one by sleeping at last
Synopsis: The pet.
Word Count: 6.1k
Warnings: This story contains themes of loss, starvation, political corruption, hardship, grief/death, emotional and physical trauma, graphic depictions of injury, portrayal of violence and the intense pressure of royal expectations, which may be unsettling or distressing to some readers.
[...]
a/n: I originally planned to create a mood board for each kingdom, but I felt this idea was stronger since New World won’t explore much of their past growth. I hope you enjoy this, my stars. i'm looking forward to your feedback and theories, my loves. please do reach out on my ask away section.
I swear upon my name, my blood, and the mark I bear. As the crown rests upon me, I am no longer my own, but a vessel of my people, a guardian of my land, and a keeper of Hala.
My wings shall shield, my voice shall guide, and my hands shall build a legacy worthy of those before me.
From this day forth, I am not prince, but a king.
And as king, I shall serve, until the winds carry me home
A side tale of the Kings in New World.
⋆༺𓆩 𝑲𝒊𝒎 𝑯𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒋𝒐𝒐𝒏𝒈 𓆪༻⋆
who am i to say what any of this means?
i have been sleepwalkin' since i was fourteen
now as I write my song, i retrace my steps honestly
it’s easier to let myself forget
nine by sleeping at last
Synopsis: The tryant.
Word Count: in writing.
Warnings: in writing.
[...]
⋆༺𓆩 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑺𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒘𝒂 𓆪༻⋆
Like a force to be reckoned with
A mighty ocean or a gentle kiss
I will love you with everySingle thing I have
two by sleeping at last
Synopsis: The remedy.
Word Count: in writing.
Warnings: in writing.
[...]
⋆༺𓆩 𝑱𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒖𝒏𝒉𝒐 𓆪༻⋆
'cause in this city's barren cold
i still remember the first fall of snow
and how it glistened as it fell
i remember it all too well
all to well by taylor swift
Synopsis: The warmth.
Word Count: 4.9k
Warnings: This story contains themes of instances of intense pressure of royal expectations, which may be unsettling or distressing to some readers.
[READ HERE]
⋆༺𓆩 𝑲𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒆𝒐𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒈 𓆪༻⋆
i remember the minute
it was like a switch was flipped
i was just a kid who grew up strong enough
to pick this armor up
and suddenly it fit
eight by sleeping at last
Synopsis: The steel.
Word Count: 4.4k
Warnings: This story contains themes of loss, hardship, grief/death, emotional and physical trauma, graphic depictions of injury, portrayal of violence and the intense pressure of royal expectations, which may be unsettling or distressing to some readers.
[...]
⋆༺𓆩 𝑪𝒉𝒐𝒊 𝑺𝒂𝒏 𓆪༻⋆
in this game of hide and seek
i can’t help but think that ordinary has swallowed the key
bodies fashioned out of dirt and dust
for a moment we get to be glorious
four by sleeping at last
Synopsis: The heir.
Word Count: in writing.
Warnings: in writing.
[...]
⋆༺𓆩 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒊 𓆪༻⋆
Awake in the sky
We break up so high, alright
Let's make it our own,
Let's savor it
where no one goes by john powell and jónsi
Synopsis: The free.
Word Count: 4.8k
Warnings: This story contains themes of endangerment (mingi falling of a dragon), near-death experiences, hypothermia and survival, depictions of injury and first aid, peril involving falling from heights, animal injury, and the intense weight of royal expectation, which may be unsettling or distressing to some readers.
[...]
⋆༺𓆩 𝑱𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝑾𝒐𝒐𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒈 𓆪༻⋆
i aim my arrow, i'll dedicate all of this eternal flame to you
i aim my arrow, i'll give you all of this moment that will never fade
sagittarius by wooyoung
Synopsis: The fire.
Word Count: 4.3k
Warnings: This story contains themes of the heavy weight of royal duty, emotional expectations from family and faith, and depictions of overwhelming responsibility, which may be unsettling or distressing to some readers.
[SOON…]
⋆༺𓆩 𝑪𝒉𝒐𝒊 𝑱𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒐 𓆪༻⋆
i want to sing a song worth singing,
i’ll write an anthem worth repeating,
I want to feel the transformation,
the melody of reformation.
one by sleeping at last
Synopsis: The pet.
Word Count: 6.1k
Warnings: This story contains themes of loss, starvation, political corruption, hardship, grief/death, emotional and physical trauma, graphic depictions of injury, portrayal of violence and the intense pressure of royal expectations, which may be unsettling or distressing to some readers.
[...]
a/n: I originally planned to create a mood board for each kingdom, but I felt this idea was stronger since New World won’t explore much of their past growth. I hope you enjoy this, my stars. i'm looking forward to your feedback and theories, my loves. please do reach out on my ask away section.
A side tale of His Majesty King Yunho, the sovereign ruler of Reed from the New World.
Warnings: This story contains themes of instances of psychological and emotional distress, and intense pressure of royal expectations, which may be unsettling or distressing to some readers.
Reed was always quiet. Snow blanketed the land, muffling sound, and the sea beyond its icy cliffs whispered rather than roared. It had always been this way—calm, steady, enduring. And so was its young prince.
At twelve, Yunho already carried the stillness of his kingdom. He was not the kind of boy to chatter or rush ahead. He walked through the halls of his home with quiet steps, listening more than speaking. His father once told him that a ruler must be like the ice—strong, unyielding, and steady enough to hold the weight of those who relied on him.
His father was a man of few words. His presence alone was enough to command the room, and his gaze, sharp as a blade, often left others stiff and cautious. The people of Reed respected him, even feared him. He ruled with a kind of discipline that left little room for warmth.
But Yunho never feared his father.
It wasn’t that the king was kind—not in the way his mother was, with soft words and gentle hands—but he had never been cruel. His love was not something given freely but shown in ways most wouldn’t notice. He never raised his voice, but Yunho had always known that when he spoke, it mattered. And when the winter storms raged the hardest, the king would always check the fires in Yunho’s room before retiring for the night.
Even now, Yunho knew that if he ever fell, his father’s hand would be the one to pull him back up.
Though Reed’s lands were frozen, its palace never was. His home was proof of that. The fires were always burning, and love—though not loud—was always present.
So the cold never reached the dining hall of the royal palace. Though Reed was a land of ice and silence, the long wooden table where the royal family dined was always warm, the golden glow of candlelight flickering against the frost-covered windows.
Yunho sat in his usual place, across from his father and beside his mother, the quiet hum of supper filling the space. The clinking of silverware, the occasional crackle of firewood—it was peaceful, the kind of silence Yunho had grown to understand.
His mother, the Queen, was the only one who would truly disrupted it.
She talked. A lot.
“…and then I told the steward that if he ever let the kitchen run out of spiced wine again, I would personally drag him to the market myself! Can you imagine, Aldric? A winter feast without spiced wine? Unthinkable!”
Yunho listened, like he always did. His mother’s words flowed like a gentle stream, warm and endless. She talked about the servants, about the state of the marketplace, about the latest gossip among the noblewomen. None of it was particularly important, but it filled the space in a way that made their home feel… alive.
It was because of her that Yunho had learned to listen. Not just to words, but to the things left unsaid—the way voices shifted, the meaning behind pauses.
And because he listened, he noticed things.
Like the way his father always sat with his hands folded neatly over the table, barely speaking unless necessary. Or the way he never interrupted his wife’s ramblings, even when she exaggerated her stories.
And most of all, Yunho noticed the small, nearly invisible smile that would tug at the corner of the king’s lips whenever the queen made a joke.
His father never laughed outright, never shook with mirth the way others did. But there was always that subtle curve to his mouth, the way his eyes softened ever so slightly.
No one else ever seemed to catch it.
But Yunho did.
“…and then, oh, you should have seen his face when I told him the cat had eaten half the pastries before they even made it to the banquet hall! I thought he would faint right then and there!”
Silence. A long pause. Then—
A quiet exhale from the king. Not quite a laugh. But something close.
Yunho felt something warm settle in his chest.
This was what people outside of Reed didn’t understand. They thought of his father as cold, untouchable. But Yunho knew better. He saw the small things—the way his father checked the windows in their rooms at night, adjusted the blanket when they were asleep, the way he always walked beside them on icy paths, ensuring neither he nor his mother would slip.
Love didn’t have to be loud.
It could be silent, like falling snow.
And as Yunho picked up his cup of warm cider, listening to his mother’s next story, he thought that perhaps, in this small, quiet way, he was just like his father.
That night, after dinner, Yunho sat in the study with his father. The room was dimly lit, the glow of the fireplace casting long shadows against the stone walls. His father sat across from him, silent as always, reading over a letter sealed with an unfamiliar crest.
Yunho waited. He had learned from his father that silence always came before something important.
Finally, the king set the letter down. His sharp gaze met Yunho’s.
“Aeros will be visiting,” he said simply.
Yunho blinked. Aeros—the kingdom of the sky. The one that never stayed still. Unlike Reed, where discipline and order shaped daily life, Aeros was not known for its structure. Its people were free-spirited, drifting like the winds they lived upon.
“Why?” he asked.
His father leaned back slightly. “The Pact of the Eight Seals is still new. Bonds must be built, even among those who are… different.”
It had only been a short time since the Pact of the Eight Seals was signed, a fragile peace forming between the kingdoms. As a gesture of goodwill, Reed had invited a delegation from Aeros.
Yunho understood. He had heard enough political talk at court to know that peace did not come from words alone. It had to be maintained, strengthened. Even if it meant welcoming the wind into the land of ice.
His father studied him for a moment, as if gauging his thoughts. “Their prince is your age.”
Yunho wasn’t sure if that was meant to reassure him. If anything, it only raised more questions.
“…What is he like?”
King Aldric exhaled, glancing at the letter once more. “Restless.” A pause. Then, a faint, almost amused glint in his eyes. “You will see soon enough.”
He stood from his chair, reaching for the clasp of his heavy navy cloak. With a practiced motion, he unfastened it, letting the thick fabric slide off his shoulders before draping it over the chair. Beneath it, he wore only a simple tunic—practical, unadorned, yet somehow making him appear no less regal.
Yunho’s eyes flickered to the silver chain around his father’s neck. A wolf’s head, carved from dark metal, rested against his chest. The sapphire embedded in its eye shimmered under the pale glow of the moon filtering through the frosted window. His mother had made that necklace for him long ago, a rare personal gift from a woman who loved grand gestures.
His father caught Yunho staring but said nothing. Instead, he straightened, his expression returning to its usual unreadable calm.
“I need you to be on your best behavior,” he said. His voice was steady, firm—but not unkind.
Yunho nodded immediately. He had never needed reminders of how to behave. Still, the fact that his father was saying this now meant that Aeros was… different.
Different enough to warrant caution.
The winds howled over the snow-covered cliffs, sweeping through the frozen expanse where Reed and Aeros met. Yunho stood beside his parents at the border, wrapped in a thick fur-lined cloak. His breath formed pale clouds in the cold air, but he barely noticed. His sharp eyes were fixed on the sky.
Aeros had arrived.
A fleet of floating carriages, pulled by massive winged beasts, glided down with effortless grace. Dark shapes emerged from the clouds first—winged, powerful, gliding with effortless grace through the cold wind. Then, the sun caught them, revealing massive dragons in deep shades of blue and gold, their scales gleaming under the pale winter light. The creatures flapped their immense wings once before landing with a soft crunch against the frost-covered ground. The banners of Aeros, light blue and gold, rippled in the wind.
Yunho held his ground as the beasts landed, snow billowing from the force of their arrival. The dragons’ breath steamed against the freezing air, their massive chests rising and falling in sync. Gold-plated saddles gleamed along their backs, carrying the figures of Aerosian royals and their guards.
The moment the first carriage door opened, King Aldric stepped forward. He did not hesitate, did not pause to study his guests. As soon as King Hadrian of Aeros emerged, the two men met at the center of the clearing.
The difference between them was stark.
Aldric, wrapped in winter’s quiet authority, carried himself with measured strength. His posture was firm, unyielding, his silver-grey gaze unreadable beneath the heavy weight of the cold.
Hadrian was his opposite. Dressed in flowing layers that moved with the breeze, he had an air of effortless confidence. His golden hair was windswept, his sky-blue eyes holding an easy warmth that did not match the frozen ground beneath his feet.
They clasped hands firmly—A moment of silent understanding passed between them. Then, a small nod.
The peace held.
Yunho barely had time to process the interaction before movement caught his eye. His mother, Queen Lysandra, had already stepped past his father. Before Yunho could blink, she wrapped the Queen of Aeros in a firm embrace.
"Lysandra!" Queen Evelyne’s voice was bright with laughter as she returned the hug. "It has been far too long!"
"Far too long," his mother agreed, pulling back just enough to study her friend’s face. "Look at you! Still floating through life as if gravity doesn’t apply to you."
Evelyne grinned, her golden curls bouncing as she tilted her head. "And you, still trying to freeze time itself. How does Aldric stand it?"
His mother smirked. "Patience."
Yunho caught it again—the almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his father’s lips.
So their queens were friends. That explained why this meeting felt less like a tense negotiation and more like a long-overdue reunion.
Still, Yunho kept his back straight, his expression composed. He knew better than to assume the visit would remain this lighthearted.
The coat draped over his small frame was clearly too big, its fabric flowing around him with every movement. The crown on his head sat slightly askew, and in all honesty, even the crest resting against his chest hung crookedly, as if everything about him refused to stay in place.
Prince Mingi.
The boy he was expected to befriend.
The grand hall of Reed’s castle was a fortress against the winter’s bite, warmed by roaring hearths and the steady glow of lanterns. Though the stone walls carried the weight of history, tonight, they stood witness to something far more personal—the meeting of two kingdoms, of two kings, of two sons.
King Aldric spoke first. “Welcome to Reed. I expect the journey was not too harsh?” His voice was steady, unshaken by the cold winds that whistled through the cliffs.
Hadrian chuckled, adjusting the leather gloves on his hands. “Not at all. A little ice never frightened an Aerosian.” He cast a glance at his son. “Mingi enjoyed himself, didn’t you?”
Mingi grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “The winds were rough, but nothing too bad.” He turned to Yunho, his eyes glinting with a playful edge. “The skies were beautiful up there. Have you ever flown that high before?”
Yunho met his gaze evenly. “Reed’s winds do not welcome careless flying.” His tone was polite, but firm. He had learned from his father that words did not need to be sharp to cut.
Mingi blinked, then let out a small chuckle. “So, no then.”
King Aldric gestured between them. “My son, Prince Yunho.” His eyes flickered toward the boy standing beside Hadrian. “And this is your son?”
Hadrian rested a hand on Mingi’s shoulder. “Prince Mingi.” He grinned slightly. “Restless, as I warned.”
“Unruly,” Aldric responded dryly.
Hadrian laughed. “Aeros does not raise silent sons.”
Yunho stole a glance at his father, noting the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. It disappeared as quickly as it came.
Evelyne sighed dramatically. “Let’s hope this visit does not end in a diplomatic disaster.”
Lysandra smirked. “With boys, that is always a risk.”
As their fathers disappeared behind heavy doors, diving into matters of state, and their mothers settled into quiet conversation by the hearth, Yunho found himself in an entirely different battle.
He was left alone with Prince Mingi.
And Mingi could talk.
“Oh, wow, the halls here are huge. Are they all like this? I thought Reed would be more—oh, I don’t know—compact? Maybe because of the cold? But no, everything’s just tall, and sharp, and dramatic. Actually, that fits. You guys are kind of dramatic, in a cold, quiet way—hey, do you actually like it here? Don’t you get bored? No offense, but everything is just so still.”
Yunho blinked.
Mingi was still talking.
“Back home, there’s always something moving, you know? The islands shift, the winds shift, people shift—like, we’re never just still. Even the air’s different. Here, it’s thick, like it’s trying to slow me down. But maybe that’s just me. Anyway, what do you do for fun?”
Yunho finally found an opening. “…Fun?”
“Yes, fun! You do know what that is, right?”
Yunho stared at him blankly.
Mingi let out a groan, slumping forward dramatically. “Oh, this is going to be harder than I thought.”
Yunho had never met anyone who talked more than his mother. He wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or exhausted.
And yet, despite himself, he found that he didn’t mind it. Mingi talked enough for the both of them, and Yunho, a boy of few words, found it oddly… convenient. He didn’t have to fill the silence. He didn’t have to search for the right thing to say. He could just listen.
And strangely, he found himself replying more than he expected.
By the time the evening stretched on, Yunho had led Mingi through the halls, past the towering windows where the frost clung thickly to the glass, down to the practice grounds where the snow had been cleared, and to the stables where their dragons were resting from the long flight.
“Okay, I’ll admit,” Mingi said, running a hand along the dark scales of his dragon’s snout. “Your home is pretty cool.”
Yunho raised a brow. “You thought it wouldn’t be?”
Mingi grinned. “Not cool like cold—cool like… cool.” He turned to him, eyes glinting mischievously. “You know, you’re not bad either, Prince Yunho.”
Yunho regarded him for a moment, then exhaled softly. “Neither are you… Prince Mingi.”
Mingi threw an arm around his shoulder. “Ah, see? We’re already getting along.”
Yunho sighed, but didn’t pull away.
The days that followed passed in a quiet blur.
Despite their differences, Yunho found himself constantly in Mingi’s company. Wherever he went, the Aerosian prince followed—talking, questioning, dragging him into conversations he never intended to have. The stillness of Reed had never been so thoroughly disrupted.
Mingi had a habit of filling every quiet moment with words, and Yunho, to his own surprise, had grown accustomed to it. He didn’t always reply, but Mingi never seemed to mind. Sometimes, Yunho caught himself answering before he even realized it.
And now, the visit was nearing its end.
But Mingi had never been one to sit still, and certainly not on his last night in Reed. Which was exactly why Mingi had no hesitation in roping Yunho into one of his infamous schemes.
“Come on,” he urged, nudging Yunho’s arm. “One last adventure before I leave.”
Yunho gave him a flat look. “It’s dinner soon.”
“Exactly! That’s why we need to do something before we get stuck at the table listening to the adults talk about taxes and treaties.” Mingi’s grin was all trouble, eyes alight with mischief. “We should do something memorable.”
Yunho’s gaze flickered toward him warily. He had learned by now that Mingi’s idea of "memorable" often meant something reckless. “Like what?”
Mingi hummed in exaggerated thought, tapping his chin before snapping his fingers. “Let’s swap the dinner menu.”
Yunho stopped walking. He turned his head slowly, staring. “…What?”
Mingi leaned in, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “Think about it. Every meal has been exactly the same. Stiff, formal, perfectly arranged—just like you.” His smirk deepened. “Let’s shake things up. We’ll swap out the dishes for something fun.”
“That is not how royal dinners work.”
Mingi shrugged, rocking back on his heels. “Who says? You’re a prince. I’m a prince. We have some say in this, don’t we?”
Yunho’s jaw tightened. It was ridiculous. It was unnecessary. It was—
His steps slowed.
For a moment, he let himself consider it.
The meals in Reed were orderly, structured. Every dish prepared with precision, every course placed with meticulous care. A reflection of the kingdom itself. A reflection of him.
And yet, as he thought about it, something itched at the back of his mind. A memory of the way Mingi had laughed freely over meals, of how, even in the cold halls of Reed, his presence had felt like movement, like something warm pressing against the stillness.
Yunho exhaled, rubbing his fingers against his temple. This was absurd. He would regret it.
“…Fine.”
Mingi nearly jumped in place. “I knew there was a troublemaker somewhere in you. Let’s go to the kitchen.”
Yunho barely had time to regret his decision before Mingi grabbed his wrist and tugged him along, weaving through the halls of Reed’s castle with practiced ease. Yunho could only assume that Mingi had memorized the layout better than he had intended—or more likely, had spent the past few days sneaking around where he shouldn’t.
By the time they slipped into the kitchen, Yunho’s pulse had settled into something steady, almost expectant. The kitchen was warm, a sharp contrast to the cold stone corridors outside. The scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread filled the air, but the kitchen staff barely spared them a glance. Whether it was because they were too busy or because they knew better than to question princes, Yunho wasn’t sure.
Mingi didn’t hesitate. He strode forward, surveying the counters filled with carefully plated dishes. “Alright,” he said, spinning to face Yunho, “what’s Reed’s best dish?”
Yunho blinked, immediately recalling the structured courses of a formal dinner—rich venison stews, carefully layered fish dishes, roasted meats arranged with mathematical precision. Everything had an order, a process, a reason.
Mingi groaned before Yunho could answer. “Forget it. I can already tell you’re about to say something boring. Let’s make it fun.” He grabbed the labels.
Mingi’s grin widened as he grabbed a quill and dipped it in ink. “Since Reed is cold, what if we swapped the royal food orders and made dessert the main course?”
Yunho stared at him. The idea was absurd—an outright disruption of the structured balance that defined Reed’s traditions. And yet… it was amusing. More than that, it was tempting.
Mingi arched a brow, waiting for Yunho’s rejection, for the stiff prince to dismiss him with the same practiced formality he had done countless times before. But instead, Yunho found himself exhaling a quiet chuckle.
He reached for the parchment.
Mingi nearly dropped the quill in shock before hastily shoving it into Yunho’s hand. “Now you’re getting it,” he whispered excitedly, watching as Yunho carefully copied the course order in his neat, measured script—only now, warm honeyed pastries, fruit tarts, and ice sorbets sat where roasted meats and spiced stews should have been.
They slipped the parchment back into place. The deed was done.
The boys barely made it out before the head chef returned, his voice rising into a furious string of curses.
“Who keeps changing the royal food orders mere HOURS before the dinner?!” The man’s bellow carried through the halls, followed by the frantic clatter of pots and chopping knives.
Yunho and Mingi ducked behind a stone column, listening as the kitchen erupted into controlled chaos. The staff scrambled to adjust, barking orders to one another as the revised list was set into motion.
Mingi clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter, his shoulders trembling. Yunho, still pressed against the cold stone, felt his pulse hammering in his throat. It was reckless. It was utterly improper.
And yet—
A slow, unfamiliar warmth curled in his chest.
He glanced at Mingi, whose eyes sparkled with unrestrained glee, and something about the moment made Yunho want to hold onto it just a little longer.
For once, he wasn’t just the son of King Aldric.
He was simply a boy, caught in a moment of foolish rebellion with his newfound friend.
The dining hall was filled with the low hum of conversation as nobles and esteemed guests settled into their seats. Yunho, now dressed in formal attire, still found himself chuckling softly with Mingi as they made their way to the long banquet table. The lingering amusement from their mischief clung to him, making him feel strangely weightless despite the usual stiffness of royal gatherings.
The first course was served—something normal, a light broth with freshly baked bread. The dinner proceeded as expected, conversations flowing, goblets filled, and the warmth of candlelight flickering across the polished silverware.
Then, the main course arrived.
The grand trays were uncovered, revealing delicate honeyed pastries, layered fruit tarts, and elegantly sculpted ice sorbets, their frosted surfaces glistening under the candlelight. Chilled berry soufflés and spiced snowdrift puddings sat alongside plates of frozen cream drizzled with syrup, each dish a vision of winter’s embrace. A ripple of confusion passed through the room. Murmurs started, nobles exchanging bewildered glances as a meal of decadence and cold sweetness took the place of the expected rich meats and hearty stews.
Across the table, Yunho and Mingi stifled their laughter—until Yunho made the mistake of looking up.
His father’s gaze was fixed on him, cold and hard, cutting through the flickering candlelight like a blade of ice.
Yunho swallowed, his amusement dying in an instant. He straightened in his chair, forcing his expression into neutrality.
Sensing the shift in mood, his mother, Queen Lysandra, quickly stepped in, offering a graceful smile. “We enjoy the cold,” she said smoothly, lifting a delicate fork to her plate. “So it is only fitting that we have dessert as our main course.”
A pause.
Then, to Yunho’s relief, laughter broke the tension—first from Queen Evelyne, who clapped her hands together, and then from King Hadrian, whose booming chuckle filled the hall.
“Well,” Hadrian mused, lifting a spoonful of custard, “Aerosians do love a little chaos at the table.”
Mingi beamed, nudging Yunho under the table as if to say, See? That wasn’t so bad.
But Yunho wasn’t sure whether he had truly escaped unscathed. His father had yet to say a word.
Even as dinner continued, Yunho was shaking in his seat. He barely touched his plate, his appetite drowned by the weight of his father’s gaze. Every so often, he stole subtle glances in his direction, but even in the midst of his discussion with King Hadrian, Aldric’s eyes never truly left him. It was a silent warning, a cold pressure that settled over Yunho’s shoulders like the frost outside the castle walls.
By the time the meal drew to a close, Yunho felt the tension in his chest tighten. The royal family of Aeros had retired for the night, preparing for their long journey home at dawn. The nobles slowly trickled out of the hall, laughter and conversation fading into the distance. Yunho had just started to rise from his chair when his father’s voice cut through the air like ice.
“Yunho. Come with me.”
Yunho stiffened. His fingers clenched around the fabric of his tunic before he quickly let go, willing himself to move.
Before he could take a step, his mother spoke up, her voice gentle yet firm. “Aldric, don’t be so hard on him.”
Her words lingered between them, a soft plea against the unyielding cold. But Yunho knew better than to hope for leniency. His father did not raise silent sons, but neither did he raise careless ones.
The halls of Reed’s castle had always been cold, but tonight, the chill seeped into Yunho’s bones in a way that had nothing to do with the weather outside. His legs felt stiff as he walked, his usually steady pace disrupted by the weight pressing against his chest. The silence between him and his father was thick, stretching unbearably with each step toward the study. Every footfall echoed, ringing loud in Yunho’s ears, but even louder was the sound of his own heartbeat, thudding relentlessly against his ribs.
The bile in his throat rose each time he tried to swallow it down. He had never feared his father before—not truly. King Aldric was not cruel. He did not shout, nor did he strike. His discipline was ice, not fire—measured, controlled, and absolute. But for the first time, Yunho wondered if tonight would be different. If the king would finally break his cold exterior and raise his voice.
They reached the heavy wooden doors of the study. Aldric pushed them open without a word, stepping inside first. Yunho followed, his fingers twitching at his sides as he crossed the threshold. The room was dimly lit, the glow of the fireplace casting flickering shadows along the stone walls. Stacks of parchment lay neatly on the desk, the faint scent of ink and parchment mingling with the ever-present chill of the room.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Yunho stood frozen, his gaze fixed downward, unwilling to meet his father’s eyes. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, as if bracing himself for whatever punishment was to come. He could feel the weight of his father’s stare—heavy, unreadable, and utterly suffocating.
Then, cutting through the silence, he heard something unexpected.
A laugh.
Deep, quiet, and unmistakably amused.
Yunho’s head snapped up in disbelief.
King Aldric was laughing. Not the sharp, humorless exhale Yunho had heard in court, nor the rare amused huff he sometimes allowed when Yunho’s mother made a particularly ridiculous joke. No, this was different—low and rumbling, as if he were holding back.
Yunho remained stiff, unable to process what he was witnessing. His father—Reed’s cold and unshakable king—stood with one hand resting on his desk, his shoulders slightly shaking, his navy cloak barely settled from where he had tossed it aside. His piercing gaze, usually so controlled, flickered with something unreadable.
"You switched the royal menu," Aldric finally said, his voice still carrying a trace of laughter.
Yunho swallowed. "Yes, Father."
"And you thought no one would notice?"
Yunho hesitated, glancing toward the floor again. He had thought about arguing, about explaining that technically, it had still been a proper meal, just in an unusual order. But that line of defense felt laughable now.
"I—" He bit his tongue, realizing there was no reasonable excuse.
Aldric regarded him for a long moment, then, to Yunho’s utter shock, the corners of his lips twitched. "It was amusing, my son."
Yunho’s eyes snapped up, searching his father’s face for any sign of deception. But there was none. The words were spoken with a rare, fleeting warmth—gone as quickly as they had come.
His father did not laugh again, nor did he offer any further praise. But somehow, that single sentence felt heavier than any reprimand. Aldric exhaled sharply, shaking his head. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and for a split second, Yunho tensed. But instead of scolding him, his father merely placed a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"You are my son," Aldric murmured. "Not once have I ever doubted that."
Yunho blinked, confused by the shift in tone.
"But Reed is not Aeros," his father continued. "We do not act on whimsy. We do not indulge in reckless amusements. You will be king one day, and kings do not play." His grip tightened, not painfully, but firmly enough that Yunho felt the weight of every word. "You are free to find humor, but never forget your duty."
Yunho nodded automatically, but Aldric did not release him.
"You do not fear me, do you?"
The question caught him off guard. Yunho's lips parted slightly before he forced them shut. His father had never asked something like that before.
"I respect you," Yunho answered carefully.
Aldric's expression did not change, but Yunho thought he saw something in his gaze—something softer, deeper, just for a moment.
"Good," his father said at last, stepping back. "Then be worthy of that respect."
Yunho straightened his back. "Yes, Father."
The king studied him for a moment longer before turning toward his desk. "Go to bed. It’s late."
Yunho hesitated before bowing his head. He turned to leave, pausing briefly at the door. For a moment, he thought about saying something more—something about how Mingi had convinced him, or how he hadn’t meant any real harm. But the words felt unnecessary.
Instead, he simply murmured, "Goodnight, Father."
King Aldric did not look up from his papers, but Yunho caught the faintest dip of his head, acknowledging him.
And for the first time that night, Yunho let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Spin-Off Masterlist | New World Masterlist
eighteen | CURRENT | nineteen
a/n: finally the long awaied spin off is here! this is the second side tale i've wrote for the kings. a little background of yunho's family and why he is so attentive. i think mingi and yunho have such a good relationship in real life so i implemented here. plus the story is really funny to write, and his mother is just such a sweetheart (y/n reminds him of his mother). i think its such an eye opener on why yunho is such a sweet kid in this story. and grew up to be such a mature man even though he is quite strict and cold.
I swear upon my name, my blood, and the mark I bear. As the crown rests upon me, I am no longer my own, but a vessel of my people, a guardian of my land, and a keeper of Hala.
My wings shall shield, my voice shall guide, and my hands shall build a legacy worthy of those before me.
From this day forth, I am not prince, but a king.
And as king, I shall serve, until the winds carry me home
A side tale of the Kings in New World.
⋆༺𓆩 𝑲𝒊𝒎 𝑯𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒋𝒐𝒐𝒏𝒈 𓆪༻⋆
who am i to say what any of this means?
i have been sleepwalkin' since i was fourteen
now as I write my song, i retrace my steps honestly
it’s easier to let myself forget
nine by sleeping at last
Synopsis: The tryant.
Word Count: in writing.
Warnings: in writing.
[...]
⋆༺𓆩 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑺𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒘𝒂 𓆪༻⋆
Like a force to be reckoned with
A mighty ocean or a gentle kiss
I will love you with everySingle thing I have
two by sleeping at last
Synopsis: The remedy.
Word Count: in writing.
Warnings: in writing.
[...]
⋆༺𓆩 𝑱𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒖𝒏𝒉𝒐 𓆪༻⋆
'cause in this city's barren cold
i still remember the first fall of snow
and how it glistened as it fell
i remember it all too well
all to well by taylor swift
Synopsis: The warmth.
Word Count: 4.9k
Warnings: This story contains themes of instances of intense pressure of royal expectations, which may be unsettling or distressing to some readers.
[READ HERE]
⋆༺𓆩 𝑲𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒆𝒐𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒈 𓆪༻⋆
i remember the minute
it was like a switch was flipped
i was just a kid who grew up strong enough
to pick this armor up
and suddenly it fit
eight by sleeping at last
Synopsis: The steel.
Word Count: 4.4k
Warnings: This story contains themes of loss, hardship, grief/death, emotional and physical trauma, graphic depictions of injury, portrayal of violence and the intense pressure of royal expectations, which may be unsettling or distressing to some readers.
[...]
⋆༺𓆩 𝑪𝒉𝒐𝒊 𝑺𝒂𝒏 𓆪༻⋆
in this game of hide and seek
i can’t help but think that ordinary has swallowed the key
bodies fashioned out of dirt and dust
for a moment we get to be glorious
four by sleeping at last
Synopsis: The heir.
Word Count: in writing.
Warnings: in writing.
[...]
⋆༺𓆩 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒊 𓆪༻⋆
Awake in the sky
We break up so high, alright
Let's make it our own,
Let's savor it
where no one goes by john powell and jónsi
Synopsis: The free.
Word Count: 4.8k
Warnings: This story contains themes of endangerment (mingi falling of a dragon), near-death experiences, hypothermia and survival, depictions of injury and first aid, peril involving falling from heights, animal injury, and the intense weight of royal expectation, which may be unsettling or distressing to some readers.
[...]
⋆༺𓆩 𝑱𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝑾𝒐𝒐𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒈 𓆪༻⋆
i aim my arrow, i'll dedicate all of this eternal flame to you
i aim my arrow, i'll give you all of this moment that will never fade
sagittarius by wooyoung
Synopsis: The fire.
Word Count: 4.3k
Warnings: This story contains themes of the heavy weight of royal duty, emotional expectations from family and faith, and depictions of overwhelming responsibility, which may be unsettling or distressing to some readers.
[...]
⋆༺𓆩 𝑪𝒉𝒐𝒊 𝑱𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒐 𓆪༻⋆
i want to sing a song worth singing,
i’ll write an anthem worth repeating,
I want to feel the transformation,
the melody of reformation.
one by sleeping at last
Synopsis: The pet.
Word Count: 6.1k
Warnings: This story contains themes of loss, starvation, political corruption, hardship, grief/death, emotional and physical trauma, graphic depictions of injury, portrayal of violence and the intense pressure of royal expectations, which may be unsettling or distressing to some readers.
[...]
a/n: I originally planned to create a mood board for each kingdom, but I felt this idea was stronger since New World won’t explore much of their past growth. I hope you enjoy this, my stars. i'm looking forward to your feedback and theories, my loves. please do reach out on my ask away section.
A side tale of His Majesty King Yunho, the sovereign ruler of Reed from the New World.
Warnings: This story contains themes of instances of psychological and emotional distress, and intense pressure of royal expectations, which may be unsettling or distressing to some readers.
Reed was always quiet. Snow blanketed the land, muffling sound, and the sea beyond its icy cliffs whispered rather than roared. It had always been this way—calm, steady, enduring. And so was its young prince.
At twelve, Yunho already carried the stillness of his kingdom. He was not the kind of boy to chatter or rush ahead. He walked through the halls of his home with quiet steps, listening more than speaking. His father once told him that a ruler must be like the ice—strong, unyielding, and steady enough to hold the weight of those who relied on him.
His father was a man of few words. His presence alone was enough to command the room, and his gaze, sharp as a blade, often left others stiff and cautious. The people of Reed respected him, even feared him. He ruled with a kind of discipline that left little room for warmth.
But Yunho never feared his father.
It wasn’t that the king was kind—not in the way his mother was, with soft words and gentle hands—but he had never been cruel. His love was not something given freely but shown in ways most wouldn’t notice. He never raised his voice, but Yunho had always known that when he spoke, it mattered. And when the winter storms raged the hardest, the king would always check the fires in Yunho’s room before retiring for the night.
Even now, Yunho knew that if he ever fell, his father’s hand would be the one to pull him back up.
Though Reed’s lands were frozen, its palace never was. His home was proof of that. The fires were always burning, and love—though not loud—was always present.
So the cold never reached the dining hall of the royal palace. Though Reed was a land of ice and silence, the long wooden table where the royal family dined was always warm, the golden glow of candlelight flickering against the frost-covered windows.
Yunho sat in his usual place, across from his father and beside his mother, the quiet hum of supper filling the space. The clinking of silverware, the occasional crackle of firewood—it was peaceful, the kind of silence Yunho had grown to understand.
His mother, the Queen, was the only one who would truly disrupted it.
She talked. A lot.
“…and then I told the steward that if he ever let the kitchen run out of spiced wine again, I would personally drag him to the market myself! Can you imagine, Aldric? A winter feast without spiced wine? Unthinkable!”
Yunho listened, like he always did. His mother’s words flowed like a gentle stream, warm and endless. She talked about the servants, about the state of the marketplace, about the latest gossip among the noblewomen. None of it was particularly important, but it filled the space in a way that made their home feel… alive.
It was because of her that Yunho had learned to listen. Not just to words, but to the things left unsaid—the way voices shifted, the meaning behind pauses.
And because he listened, he noticed things.
Like the way his father always sat with his hands folded neatly over the table, barely speaking unless necessary. Or the way he never interrupted his wife’s ramblings, even when she exaggerated her stories.
And most of all, Yunho noticed the small, nearly invisible smile that would tug at the corner of the king’s lips whenever the queen made a joke.
His father never laughed outright, never shook with mirth the way others did. But there was always that subtle curve to his mouth, the way his eyes softened ever so slightly.
No one else ever seemed to catch it.
But Yunho did.
“…and then, oh, you should have seen his face when I told him the cat had eaten half the pastries before they even made it to the banquet hall! I thought he would faint right then and there!”
Silence. A long pause. Then—
A quiet exhale from the king. Not quite a laugh. But something close.
Yunho felt something warm settle in his chest.
This was what people outside of Reed didn’t understand. They thought of his father as cold, untouchable. But Yunho knew better. He saw the small things—the way his father checked the windows in their rooms at night, adjusted the blanket when they were asleep, the way he always walked beside them on icy paths, ensuring neither he nor his mother would slip.
Love didn’t have to be loud.
It could be silent, like falling snow.
And as Yunho picked up his cup of warm cider, listening to his mother’s next story, he thought that perhaps, in this small, quiet way, he was just like his father.
That night, after dinner, Yunho sat in the study with his father. The room was dimly lit, the glow of the fireplace casting long shadows against the stone walls. His father sat across from him, silent as always, reading over a letter sealed with an unfamiliar crest.
Yunho waited. He had learned from his father that silence always came before something important.
Finally, the king set the letter down. His sharp gaze met Yunho’s.
“Aeros will be visiting,” he said simply.
Yunho blinked. Aeros—the kingdom of the sky. The one that never stayed still. Unlike Reed, where discipline and order shaped daily life, Aeros was not known for its structure. Its people were free-spirited, drifting like the winds they lived upon.
“Why?” he asked.
His father leaned back slightly. “The Pact of the Eight Seals is still new. Bonds must be built, even among those who are… different.”
It had only been a short time since the Pact of the Eight Seals was signed, a fragile peace forming between the kingdoms. As a gesture of goodwill, Reed had invited a delegation from Aeros.
Yunho understood. He had heard enough political talk at court to know that peace did not come from words alone. It had to be maintained, strengthened. Even if it meant welcoming the wind into the land of ice.
His father studied him for a moment, as if gauging his thoughts. “Their prince is your age.”
Yunho wasn’t sure if that was meant to reassure him. If anything, it only raised more questions.
“…What is he like?”
King Aldric exhaled, glancing at the letter once more. “Restless.” A pause. Then, a faint, almost amused glint in his eyes. “You will see soon enough.”
He stood from his chair, reaching for the clasp of his heavy navy cloak. With a practiced motion, he unfastened it, letting the thick fabric slide off his shoulders before draping it over the chair. Beneath it, he wore only a simple tunic—practical, unadorned, yet somehow making him appear no less regal.
Yunho’s eyes flickered to the silver chain around his father’s neck. A wolf’s head, carved from dark metal, rested against his chest. The sapphire embedded in its eye shimmered under the pale glow of the moon filtering through the frosted window. His mother had made that necklace for him long ago, a rare personal gift from a woman who loved grand gestures.
His father caught Yunho staring but said nothing. Instead, he straightened, his expression returning to its usual unreadable calm.
“I need you to be on your best behavior,” he said. His voice was steady, firm—but not unkind.
Yunho nodded immediately. He had never needed reminders of how to behave. Still, the fact that his father was saying this now meant that Aeros was… different.
Different enough to warrant caution.
The winds howled over the snow-covered cliffs, sweeping through the frozen expanse where Reed and Aeros met. Yunho stood beside his parents at the border, wrapped in a thick fur-lined cloak. His breath formed pale clouds in the cold air, but he barely noticed. His sharp eyes were fixed on the sky.
Aeros had arrived.
A fleet of floating carriages, pulled by massive winged beasts, glided down with effortless grace. Dark shapes emerged from the clouds first—winged, powerful, gliding with effortless grace through the cold wind. Then, the sun caught them, revealing massive dragons in deep shades of blue and gold, their scales gleaming under the pale winter light. The creatures flapped their immense wings once before landing with a soft crunch against the frost-covered ground. The banners of Aeros, light blue and gold, rippled in the wind.
Yunho held his ground as the beasts landed, snow billowing from the force of their arrival. The dragons’ breath steamed against the freezing air, their massive chests rising and falling in sync. Gold-plated saddles gleamed along their backs, carrying the figures of Aerosian royals and their guards.
The moment the first carriage door opened, King Aldric stepped forward. He did not hesitate, did not pause to study his guests. As soon as King Hadrian of Aeros emerged, the two men met at the center of the clearing.
The difference between them was stark.
Aldric, wrapped in winter’s quiet authority, carried himself with measured strength. His posture was firm, unyielding, his silver-grey gaze unreadable beneath the heavy weight of the cold.
Hadrian was his opposite. Dressed in flowing layers that moved with the breeze, he had an air of effortless confidence. His golden hair was windswept, his sky-blue eyes holding an easy warmth that did not match the frozen ground beneath his feet.
They clasped hands firmly—A moment of silent understanding passed between them. Then, a small nod.
The peace held.
Yunho barely had time to process the interaction before movement caught his eye. His mother, Queen Lysandra, had already stepped past his father. Before Yunho could blink, she wrapped the Queen of Aeros in a firm embrace.
"Lysandra!" Queen Evelyne’s voice was bright with laughter as she returned the hug. "It has been far too long!"
"Far too long," his mother agreed, pulling back just enough to study her friend’s face. "Look at you! Still floating through life as if gravity doesn’t apply to you."
Evelyne grinned, her golden curls bouncing as she tilted her head. "And you, still trying to freeze time itself. How does Aldric stand it?"
His mother smirked. "Patience."
Yunho caught it again—the almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his father’s lips.
So their queens were friends. That explained why this meeting felt less like a tense negotiation and more like a long-overdue reunion.
Still, Yunho kept his back straight, his expression composed. He knew better than to assume the visit would remain this lighthearted.
The coat draped over his small frame was clearly too big, its fabric flowing around him with every movement. The crown on his head sat slightly askew, and in all honesty, even the crest resting against his chest hung crookedly, as if everything about him refused to stay in place.
Prince Mingi.
The boy he was expected to befriend.
The grand hall of Reed’s castle was a fortress against the winter’s bite, warmed by roaring hearths and the steady glow of lanterns. Though the stone walls carried the weight of history, tonight, they stood witness to something far more personal—the meeting of two kingdoms, of two kings, of two sons.
King Aldric spoke first. “Welcome to Reed. I expect the journey was not too harsh?” His voice was steady, unshaken by the cold winds that whistled through the cliffs.
Hadrian chuckled, adjusting the leather gloves on his hands. “Not at all. A little ice never frightened an Aerosian.” He cast a glance at his son. “Mingi enjoyed himself, didn’t you?”
Mingi grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “The winds were rough, but nothing too bad.” He turned to Yunho, his eyes glinting with a playful edge. “The skies were beautiful up there. Have you ever flown that high before?”
Yunho met his gaze evenly. “Reed’s winds do not welcome careless flying.” His tone was polite, but firm. He had learned from his father that words did not need to be sharp to cut.
Mingi blinked, then let out a small chuckle. “So, no then.”
King Aldric gestured between them. “My son, Prince Yunho.” His eyes flickered toward the boy standing beside Hadrian. “And this is your son?”
Hadrian rested a hand on Mingi’s shoulder. “Prince Mingi.” He grinned slightly. “Restless, as I warned.”
“Unruly,” Aldric responded dryly.
Hadrian laughed. “Aeros does not raise silent sons.”
Yunho stole a glance at his father, noting the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. It disappeared as quickly as it came.
Evelyne sighed dramatically. “Let’s hope this visit does not end in a diplomatic disaster.”
Lysandra smirked. “With boys, that is always a risk.”
As their fathers disappeared behind heavy doors, diving into matters of state, and their mothers settled into quiet conversation by the hearth, Yunho found himself in an entirely different battle.
He was left alone with Prince Mingi.
And Mingi could talk.
“Oh, wow, the halls here are huge. Are they all like this? I thought Reed would be more—oh, I don’t know—compact? Maybe because of the cold? But no, everything’s just tall, and sharp, and dramatic. Actually, that fits. You guys are kind of dramatic, in a cold, quiet way—hey, do you actually like it here? Don’t you get bored? No offense, but everything is just so still.”
Yunho blinked.
Mingi was still talking.
“Back home, there’s always something moving, you know? The islands shift, the winds shift, people shift—like, we’re never just still. Even the air’s different. Here, it’s thick, like it’s trying to slow me down. But maybe that’s just me. Anyway, what do you do for fun?”
Yunho finally found an opening. “…Fun?”
“Yes, fun! You do know what that is, right?”
Yunho stared at him blankly.
Mingi let out a groan, slumping forward dramatically. “Oh, this is going to be harder than I thought.”
Yunho had never met anyone who talked more than his mother. He wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or exhausted.
And yet, despite himself, he found that he didn’t mind it. Mingi talked enough for the both of them, and Yunho, a boy of few words, found it oddly… convenient. He didn’t have to fill the silence. He didn’t have to search for the right thing to say. He could just listen.
And strangely, he found himself replying more than he expected.
By the time the evening stretched on, Yunho had led Mingi through the halls, past the towering windows where the frost clung thickly to the glass, down to the practice grounds where the snow had been cleared, and to the stables where their dragons were resting from the long flight.
“Okay, I’ll admit,” Mingi said, running a hand along the dark scales of his dragon’s snout. “Your home is pretty cool.”
Yunho raised a brow. “You thought it wouldn’t be?”
Mingi grinned. “Not cool like cold—cool like… cool.” He turned to him, eyes glinting mischievously. “You know, you’re not bad either, Prince Yunho.”
Yunho regarded him for a moment, then exhaled softly. “Neither are you… Prince Mingi.”
Mingi threw an arm around his shoulder. “Ah, see? We’re already getting along.”
Yunho sighed, but didn’t pull away.
The days that followed passed in a quiet blur.
Despite their differences, Yunho found himself constantly in Mingi’s company. Wherever he went, the Aerosian prince followed—talking, questioning, dragging him into conversations he never intended to have. The stillness of Reed had never been so thoroughly disrupted.
Mingi had a habit of filling every quiet moment with words, and Yunho, to his own surprise, had grown accustomed to it. He didn’t always reply, but Mingi never seemed to mind. Sometimes, Yunho caught himself answering before he even realized it.
And now, the visit was nearing its end.
But Mingi had never been one to sit still, and certainly not on his last night in Reed. Which was exactly why Mingi had no hesitation in roping Yunho into one of his infamous schemes.
“Come on,” he urged, nudging Yunho’s arm. “One last adventure before I leave.”
Yunho gave him a flat look. “It’s dinner soon.”
“Exactly! That’s why we need to do something before we get stuck at the table listening to the adults talk about taxes and treaties.” Mingi’s grin was all trouble, eyes alight with mischief. “We should do something memorable.”
Yunho’s gaze flickered toward him warily. He had learned by now that Mingi’s idea of "memorable" often meant something reckless. “Like what?”
Mingi hummed in exaggerated thought, tapping his chin before snapping his fingers. “Let’s swap the dinner menu.”
Yunho stopped walking. He turned his head slowly, staring. “…What?”
Mingi leaned in, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “Think about it. Every meal has been exactly the same. Stiff, formal, perfectly arranged—just like you.” His smirk deepened. “Let’s shake things up. We’ll swap out the dishes for something fun.”
“That is not how royal dinners work.”
Mingi shrugged, rocking back on his heels. “Who says? You’re a prince. I’m a prince. We have some say in this, don’t we?”
Yunho’s jaw tightened. It was ridiculous. It was unnecessary. It was—
His steps slowed.
For a moment, he let himself consider it.
The meals in Reed were orderly, structured. Every dish prepared with precision, every course placed with meticulous care. A reflection of the kingdom itself. A reflection of him.
And yet, as he thought about it, something itched at the back of his mind. A memory of the way Mingi had laughed freely over meals, of how, even in the cold halls of Reed, his presence had felt like movement, like something warm pressing against the stillness.
Yunho exhaled, rubbing his fingers against his temple. This was absurd. He would regret it.
“…Fine.”
Mingi nearly jumped in place. “I knew there was a troublemaker somewhere in you. Let’s go to the kitchen.”
Yunho barely had time to regret his decision before Mingi grabbed his wrist and tugged him along, weaving through the halls of Reed’s castle with practiced ease. Yunho could only assume that Mingi had memorized the layout better than he had intended—or more likely, had spent the past few days sneaking around where he shouldn’t.
By the time they slipped into the kitchen, Yunho’s pulse had settled into something steady, almost expectant. The kitchen was warm, a sharp contrast to the cold stone corridors outside. The scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread filled the air, but the kitchen staff barely spared them a glance. Whether it was because they were too busy or because they knew better than to question princes, Yunho wasn’t sure.
Mingi didn’t hesitate. He strode forward, surveying the counters filled with carefully plated dishes. “Alright,” he said, spinning to face Yunho, “what’s Reed’s best dish?”
Yunho blinked, immediately recalling the structured courses of a formal dinner—rich venison stews, carefully layered fish dishes, roasted meats arranged with mathematical precision. Everything had an order, a process, a reason.
Mingi groaned before Yunho could answer. “Forget it. I can already tell you’re about to say something boring. Let’s make it fun.” He grabbed the labels.
Mingi’s grin widened as he grabbed a quill and dipped it in ink. “Since Reed is cold, what if we swapped the royal food orders and made dessert the main course?”
Yunho stared at him. The idea was absurd—an outright disruption of the structured balance that defined Reed’s traditions. And yet… it was amusing. More than that, it was tempting.
Mingi arched a brow, waiting for Yunho’s rejection, for the stiff prince to dismiss him with the same practiced formality he had done countless times before. But instead, Yunho found himself exhaling a quiet chuckle.
He reached for the parchment.
Mingi nearly dropped the quill in shock before hastily shoving it into Yunho’s hand. “Now you’re getting it,” he whispered excitedly, watching as Yunho carefully copied the course order in his neat, measured script—only now, warm honeyed pastries, fruit tarts, and ice sorbets sat where roasted meats and spiced stews should have been.
They slipped the parchment back into place. The deed was done.
The boys barely made it out before the head chef returned, his voice rising into a furious string of curses.
“Who keeps changing the royal food orders mere HOURS before the dinner?!” The man’s bellow carried through the halls, followed by the frantic clatter of pots and chopping knives.
Yunho and Mingi ducked behind a stone column, listening as the kitchen erupted into controlled chaos. The staff scrambled to adjust, barking orders to one another as the revised list was set into motion.
Mingi clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter, his shoulders trembling. Yunho, still pressed against the cold stone, felt his pulse hammering in his throat. It was reckless. It was utterly improper.
And yet—
A slow, unfamiliar warmth curled in his chest.
He glanced at Mingi, whose eyes sparkled with unrestrained glee, and something about the moment made Yunho want to hold onto it just a little longer.
For once, he wasn’t just the son of King Aldric.
He was simply a boy, caught in a moment of foolish rebellion with his newfound friend.
The dining hall was filled with the low hum of conversation as nobles and esteemed guests settled into their seats. Yunho, now dressed in formal attire, still found himself chuckling softly with Mingi as they made their way to the long banquet table. The lingering amusement from their mischief clung to him, making him feel strangely weightless despite the usual stiffness of royal gatherings.
The first course was served—something normal, a light broth with freshly baked bread. The dinner proceeded as expected, conversations flowing, goblets filled, and the warmth of candlelight flickering across the polished silverware.
Then, the main course arrived.
The grand trays were uncovered, revealing delicate honeyed pastries, layered fruit tarts, and elegantly sculpted ice sorbets, their frosted surfaces glistening under the candlelight. Chilled berry soufflés and spiced snowdrift puddings sat alongside plates of frozen cream drizzled with syrup, each dish a vision of winter’s embrace. A ripple of confusion passed through the room. Murmurs started, nobles exchanging bewildered glances as a meal of decadence and cold sweetness took the place of the expected rich meats and hearty stews.
Across the table, Yunho and Mingi stifled their laughter—until Yunho made the mistake of looking up.
His father’s gaze was fixed on him, cold and hard, cutting through the flickering candlelight like a blade of ice.
Yunho swallowed, his amusement dying in an instant. He straightened in his chair, forcing his expression into neutrality.
Sensing the shift in mood, his mother, Queen Lysandra, quickly stepped in, offering a graceful smile. “We enjoy the cold,” she said smoothly, lifting a delicate fork to her plate. “So it is only fitting that we have dessert as our main course.”
A pause.
Then, to Yunho’s relief, laughter broke the tension—first from Queen Evelyne, who clapped her hands together, and then from King Hadrian, whose booming chuckle filled the hall.
“Well,” Hadrian mused, lifting a spoonful of custard, “Aerosians do love a little chaos at the table.”
Mingi beamed, nudging Yunho under the table as if to say, See? That wasn’t so bad.
But Yunho wasn’t sure whether he had truly escaped unscathed. His father had yet to say a word.
Even as dinner continued, Yunho was shaking in his seat. He barely touched his plate, his appetite drowned by the weight of his father’s gaze. Every so often, he stole subtle glances in his direction, but even in the midst of his discussion with King Hadrian, Aldric’s eyes never truly left him. It was a silent warning, a cold pressure that settled over Yunho’s shoulders like the frost outside the castle walls.
By the time the meal drew to a close, Yunho felt the tension in his chest tighten. The royal family of Aeros had retired for the night, preparing for their long journey home at dawn. The nobles slowly trickled out of the hall, laughter and conversation fading into the distance. Yunho had just started to rise from his chair when his father’s voice cut through the air like ice.
“Yunho. Come with me.”
Yunho stiffened. His fingers clenched around the fabric of his tunic before he quickly let go, willing himself to move.
Before he could take a step, his mother spoke up, her voice gentle yet firm. “Aldric, don’t be so hard on him.”
Her words lingered between them, a soft plea against the unyielding cold. But Yunho knew better than to hope for leniency. His father did not raise silent sons, but neither did he raise careless ones.
The halls of Reed’s castle had always been cold, but tonight, the chill seeped into Yunho’s bones in a way that had nothing to do with the weather outside. His legs felt stiff as he walked, his usually steady pace disrupted by the weight pressing against his chest. The silence between him and his father was thick, stretching unbearably with each step toward the study. Every footfall echoed, ringing loud in Yunho’s ears, but even louder was the sound of his own heartbeat, thudding relentlessly against his ribs.
The bile in his throat rose each time he tried to swallow it down. He had never feared his father before—not truly. King Aldric was not cruel. He did not shout, nor did he strike. His discipline was ice, not fire—measured, controlled, and absolute. But for the first time, Yunho wondered if tonight would be different. If the king would finally break his cold exterior and raise his voice.
They reached the heavy wooden doors of the study. Aldric pushed them open without a word, stepping inside first. Yunho followed, his fingers twitching at his sides as he crossed the threshold. The room was dimly lit, the glow of the fireplace casting flickering shadows along the stone walls. Stacks of parchment lay neatly on the desk, the faint scent of ink and parchment mingling with the ever-present chill of the room.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Yunho stood frozen, his gaze fixed downward, unwilling to meet his father’s eyes. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, as if bracing himself for whatever punishment was to come. He could feel the weight of his father’s stare—heavy, unreadable, and utterly suffocating.
Then, cutting through the silence, he heard something unexpected.
A laugh.
Deep, quiet, and unmistakably amused.
Yunho’s head snapped up in disbelief.
King Aldric was laughing. Not the sharp, humorless exhale Yunho had heard in court, nor the rare amused huff he sometimes allowed when Yunho’s mother made a particularly ridiculous joke. No, this was different—low and rumbling, as if he were holding back.
Yunho remained stiff, unable to process what he was witnessing. His father—Reed’s cold and unshakable king—stood with one hand resting on his desk, his shoulders slightly shaking, his navy cloak barely settled from where he had tossed it aside. His piercing gaze, usually so controlled, flickered with something unreadable.
"You switched the royal menu," Aldric finally said, his voice still carrying a trace of laughter.
Yunho swallowed. "Yes, Father."
"And you thought no one would notice?"
Yunho hesitated, glancing toward the floor again. He had thought about arguing, about explaining that technically, it had still been a proper meal, just in an unusual order. But that line of defense felt laughable now.
"I—" He bit his tongue, realizing there was no reasonable excuse.
Aldric regarded him for a long moment, then, to Yunho’s utter shock, the corners of his lips twitched. "It was amusing, my son."
Yunho’s eyes snapped up, searching his father’s face for any sign of deception. But there was none. The words were spoken with a rare, fleeting warmth—gone as quickly as they had come.
His father did not laugh again, nor did he offer any further praise. But somehow, that single sentence felt heavier than any reprimand. Aldric exhaled sharply, shaking his head. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and for a split second, Yunho tensed. But instead of scolding him, his father merely placed a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"You are my son," Aldric murmured. "Not once have I ever doubted that."
Yunho blinked, confused by the shift in tone.
"But Reed is not Aeros," his father continued. "We do not act on whimsy. We do not indulge in reckless amusements. You will be king one day, and kings do not play." His grip tightened, not painfully, but firmly enough that Yunho felt the weight of every word. "You are free to find humor, but never forget your duty."
Yunho nodded automatically, but Aldric did not release him.
"You do not fear me, do you?"
The question caught him off guard. Yunho's lips parted slightly before he forced them shut. His father had never asked something like that before.
"I respect you," Yunho answered carefully.
Aldric's expression did not change, but Yunho thought he saw something in his gaze—something softer, deeper, just for a moment.
"Good," his father said at last, stepping back. "Then be worthy of that respect."
Yunho straightened his back. "Yes, Father."
The king studied him for a moment longer before turning toward his desk. "Go to bed. It’s late."
Yunho hesitated before bowing his head. He turned to leave, pausing briefly at the door. For a moment, he thought about saying something more—something about how Mingi had convinced him, or how he hadn’t meant any real harm. But the words felt unnecessary.
Instead, he simply murmured, "Goodnight, Father."
King Aldric did not look up from his papers, but Yunho caught the faintest dip of his head, acknowledging him.
And for the first time that night, Yunho let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Spin-Off Masterlist | New World Masterlist
eighteen | CURRENT | nineteen
a/n: finally the long awaied spin off is here! this is the second side tale i've wrote for the kings. a little background of yunho's family and why he is so attentive. i think mingi and yunho have such a good relationship in real life so i implemented here. plus the story is really funny to write, and his mother is just such a sweetheart (y/n reminds him of his mother). i think its such an eye opener on why yunho is such a sweet kid in this story. and grew up to be such a mature man even though he is quite strict and cold.
Pairing: Ot8 Ateez x reader
AU: fantasy AU | stranger -> mates
Summary: In Hala, a house of eight kingdoms, each boasting its own wonders, you never imagined that amidst the pain, you would also fall—this time, in love.
Word Count: 8.2k | 35 mins
Warning: This chapter contains aftermath of violence, emotional distress, panic, descriptions of blood, and consensual physical intimacy (kissing). Please do not read if you are sensitive to such content.
Everything after the scream blurred together.
You could remember Jongho first—his face paling as he burst through the threshold, sword half-drawn until he registered it was you. He crossed the room in strides too fast to follow, scooping you into his arms before your knees could give out beneath you. His voice had been in your ear, low and urgent, though you couldn’t recall the words—only the steady tremor of his chest against your cheek, the faint, grounding rhythm of his breath.
Your lips moved uselessly, mumbling the only truth you could cling to. “No…please…I’m scared…” The word cracked each time it left you, broken and small, until Jongho hushed you with a firmer hold, his hand pressing protectively at the back of your head. And you could hear him whispering over and over, “You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you. I’m here.”
Then came the others.
Seonghwa strode in next, the candlelight flashing against his white and bronze attire, crown casting sharp shadows across his features. His gaze swept the room once and darkened. The words scrawled above your bed, the heart pinned cruelly to the wall, the doves and eagles splayed across crimson-stained sheets—he took it all in with chilling clarity before his voice cut like steel through the chaos.
“Seal the wing. No one enters, no one leaves. Find me who allowed this breach.”
Hongjoong was at his side, eyes narrowing, already calculating. His hand brushed the hilt of his sword though he didn’t draw it; his weapon was his mind, and it moved quick, sharp. He muttered orders to the steward, voice clipped, his gaze flicking between the horror on the wall and the terror still etched into your trembling frame.
Wooyoung’s arrival was louder, less contained—a curse ripped from his lips, feathers flaring in outrage. His fury was raw, unpolished, dangerous. He stalked toward the bed but San caught his arm before he could disturb the scene, his quiet restraint like a leash on Wooyoung’s temper.
San’s expression was grave, but his presence at your side was steady, unyielding. He lowered himself slightly, wings folding in close, his voice calm but laced with heat as he spoke to you. “You’re not alone. Do you hear me? You’re not alone in this.”
Yeosang entered last, slower, more deliberate. His eyes did not widen or flare like the others—if anything, they darkened to something unreadable, cold as a blade’s edge. He studied the words carved above your bed with quiet intensity, his silence a warning in itself. When his gaze finally shifted to you, it softened only a fraction, but enough to betray the storm brewing behind his calm.
Yunho was there too, shoulders taut as he froze in the doorway. His eyes locked on the bed, on the blood, on you—then his jaw clenched, composure shattering for the briefest second before he forced it back. He said nothing, but his gaze burned as though willing himself to take the horror from you if only he could.
Mingi’s broad frame filled the space just behind him. Unlike the others, he didn’t look at the bed first—he looked at you, at the way you shook in Jongho’s arms. His throat worked, words catching before he managed, low and pained, “She doesn’t deserve this.” His fists curled tight at his sides, trembling with fury he barely contained.
Jongho held you tighter as the room filled with command, fury, and promise, shielding you from the worst of their stares. Yet even through your tears, you could feel it—the vow uniting them all, spoken not in words, but in the way the air itself seemed to shift around you.
“Jongho, get her out of here,” Hongjoong barked to the youngest, sharp and final. His gaze flicked past you, hard.
“Mingi, go with them.”
The last thing you heard as Jongho carried you across the threshold, Mingi’s falling close behind, was Seonghwa’s crown catching the light—just before a voice, low and cutting, bit through the chamber:
“How could you have let this happen, Seonghwa?”
The words were the last sharp edge you heard before the chaos dimmed behind you.
Jongho steps were unhurried but sure, as though the very walls might crumble if he let you falter. Mingi’s presence loomed close behind, broad and silent, his shadow falling over you like a shield. Neither spoke—their silence was its own promise, their calm a wall against the terror still echoing in your chest.
The noise of the hall faded with every step, replaced by the quiet rhythm of Jongho’s heartbeat where your ear rested against him. Steady. Constant. Safe.
Jongho’s chambers were dimly lit, a single lantern burning low on the carved stand, its flame casting soft gold across the room. The air carried his scent—incense and burnt wood, threaded through with something unmistakably his, warm and steadying. He pushed the door shut with his shoulder and crossed to the bed, holding you as if you were porcelain that might crack.
He set you carefully on the middle of his bed, and you felt the give of it beneath your palms. The coverlet was thick, velvet-like, cool at first touch before your trembling fingers sank into its softness. Behind you, the carved headboard rose dark and solid, its surface polished smooth by years of use. The bed smelled faintly of him too, of smoke lingering in cloth, of something sharp and clean threaded through with warmth.
Jongho didn’t move far. Instead, he sat beside you, close enough that the weight of him on the mattress steadied your wavering frame. His hand brushed your arm, firm and gentle all at once, anchoring you where you sat. His voice, low and rough-edged, threaded through the silence.
“I’m here, my heart. No one touches you in these walls.”
The words—so steady, so certain—unraveled something deep inside you. Your knees drew in tight against your chest, your face burying into your hands as sobs clawed free.
Gods, what had you done?
What peril had you stumbled into, falling into waters as dangerous as this, into a world of crowns and daggers dressed in silk?
Jongho’s chest ached at the sight, and Mingi’s fists clenched at his sides. To see you undone like this—tearful, shaking—splintered them both in ways words could never touch. If it were left to them, they would hunt whoever had dared mar you tonight, drag them into the light, and make them bleed for every tear you shed.
You cried until your throat ached, until your body felt hollow and raw. The silence that followed was heavy, punctuated only by the faint crackle of the lantern flame. Then, the door creaked open and closed again. You lifted your head, bleary-eyed, but found only Jongho still with you.
“He went to fetch water,” Jongho murmured, brushing a strand of damp hair from your cheek, his touch careful as if you might break. “Mingi will be back soon.”
The words settled somewhere distant, muffled by the weight pressing against your chest. You were still in the same dress—silk clinging heavy against your skin, the threads a reminder of where you had been, of the eyes that had watched, of the hands that had hurt. Every fold of fabric felt wrong, suffocating, steeped in memories you wanted ripped away from you. The room, the bed, even the faint scent of incense couldn’t untangle you from the truth of it: you had stood too close to death, close enough that its shadow still clung to you. And this dress wrapped around your body, was a tether back to it all.
You sniffled, your voice small, raw. “Can I… can I change?”
Jongho nodded without hesitation, rising to fetch something from the chest at the foot of his bed. When he returned, he held out a tunic—loose and long, the fabric smelling faintly of him, of incense and charred cedar. He set it gently in your lap, as though the simple act of offering it was a vow in itself.
“Here. I’m not sure if I have anything your size, but this should do.” His voice was soft, almost apologetic, as he passed it to you.
You nodded, fingers brushing the fabric, but your gaze lingered on him instead.
“I’ll leave so you can change,” Jongho said after a beat, already half-rising from the bed.
“...No.” The word tumbled out sharper than you meant it, trembling, raw. Your eyes flickered up to his, wide, pleading. “Please… I’m scared.”
The sound of your voice like that—so small, so broken—pierced him deeper than any blade. Jongho prided himself on being strong, unshaken even in the face of battle, but those words sank into him like barbs, twisting until they crawled right through his chest.
He drew a breath, steadying himself, then sank back down onto the mattress beside you. His voice was low, careful, a promise wrapped in restraint.
“I’ll turn around,” he murmured, “so you can see me if anything’s wrong. I won’t go anywhere.”
And true to his word, he shifted, broad shoulders turning just enough to give you privacy, but not so far that his presence left you. His hand lingered against the edge of the mattress, open, waiting—silent reassurance that if your fear rose, you need only reach for him.
You sat there for a long moment, clutching the tunic in your lap, the fabric soft against your trembling fingers. The weight of your gown pressed heavy against you, layers of silk and boning and ties that suddenly felt suffocating.
Your throat tightened. Normally, you’d have a maid’s careful hands undoing each knot, each clasp, peeling the layers away with practiced ease. Now, there was only you—shaking, fumbling, still caught between the terror of what you had seen and the fragile safety of this room.
Jongho stayed still, his back turned, broad shoulders a quiet wall between you and the dark. His presence anchored you, steady as stone, though he made no move to intrude. Only his voice reached you, low and careful.
“Take your time. I’m right here.”
Your hands slipped at the ties, frustration knotting with your fear. Piece by piece, you managed, until the gown slid from your shoulders with a whisper of fabric and pooled heavily at your feet. You were left in your undergarments, bare enough to feel exposed but not so much that modesty abandoned you completely.
Quickly, you pulled the tunic over your head. It swallowed you whole, the hem brushing your thighs, sleeves falling loose over your wrists. It smelled of him—burnt wood, cedar, and the faintest hint of incense. The fabric was warm where it had been pressed to his chest, and against your skin it felt like protection, like something solid to hold onto.
You drew your knees up slightly, the oversized fabric draping around you like a shield. For the first time since entering your chambers, the air didn’t feel like it was pressing in to choke you.
“Jongho,” you whispered, voice catching.
He turned his head just enough that you could see the side of his face, his profile lit by the flicker of the lamp. His jaw was tight, his mouth a thin line—as though he were holding back the storm threatening to break inside him.
When his eyes finally met yours, they softened. He shifted, turning fully toward you now, his hand reaching across the space between you. His fingers brushed your sleeve, the faintest touch, careful as if he feared you might shatter.
“You’re safe now,” he said quietly, the words steady despite the heaviness in his voice. “Do you believe me?”
Your throat worked, but you couldn’t quite answer. Instead, you nodded, the movement small, uncertain.
Jongho’s gaze lingered, searching your face as though he wanted to etch every tear into memory, to carry it for you. Then, slowly, he reached up, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The gesture was tender, almost reverent, and his hand lingered a moment longer against your cheek before he pulled back.
He shifted to move toward the end of the bed, your hand shot out, tugging at his sleeve before he could rise.
You nodded faintly at his words, but when he shifted to move toward the end of the bed, your hand shot out, tugging at his sleeve before he could rise.
“Jongho…” your voice was barely above a whisper, threaded with exhaustion and fear. You swallowed hard, the plea trembling out of you before you could stop it. “Stay. Please… just—lay here. With me.”
His eyes widened, surprise flickering across his features. For a moment he said nothing, only searched your face as though making certain he had heard you right.
“Please,” you repeated, softer this time, your fingers still curled in the fabric of his sleeve. “I’m… I’m scared.”
Jongho’s breath caught, his chest rising once before he let it out slowly, as though steadying himself. You saw the way his jaw clenched, how every instinct warred with the discipline he’d built as a soldier, as a protector. But then, he shifted—wordless—slipping carefully onto the mattress beside you.
He lay on top of the covers, leaving space, his arm bent beneath his head. Still, the nearness of him filled the void you hadn’t even realized was gaping inside you. His scent—burnt wood, cedar, and the faint smoke of incense—wrapped around you like another blanket, anchoring you to the present. His restraint was almost painful to watch, as though every muscle in him ached to pull you close but he forced himself to remain still.
You stared at the ceiling for a long moment, your heart thudding unevenly in your chest. The silence pressed in until you couldn’t bear it anymore. Slowly, almost timidly, you shifted—rolling toward him, close enough that your shoulder brushed the warmth of his arm.
Jongho’s breath hitched, but he didn’t move.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic, holding onto him the way a drowning soul clings to driftwood. “Don’t just lie there,” you whispered, your voice small, trembling. “Please…”
That was all it took. His arm came around you, careful, protective, drawing you against the solid wall of his chest. You buried your face there, the scent of cedar and smoke filling your lungs, grounding you more than words ever could.
Jongho’s hand spread gently against your back, the steady weight of it quieting the last of your trembling. His lips brushed your temple—barely there, more breath than touch—as he murmured, low and fierce, “I’ve got you. Sleep, my heart. I won’t let go.”
And wrapped in his warmth, in the quiet thunder of his heartbeat, you finally felt the night’s horrors begin to loosen their grip.
You stirred at the murmur of voices, the sound threading through your half-dreams until it pulled you awake. The soft creak of a door opening followed, and when your eyes fluttered open, the blurred shapes of the kings sharpened into view.
Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Wooyoung, and San stood at the center of the chamber mid-conversation, their low voices edged with the weight of strategy. Mingi leaned against the far wall, broad shoulders tense as his gaze stayed fixed on them, silent but watchful. Yeosang stood at the window, wings folded close, his eyes trained on the horizon as though searching for unseen threats.
They were all still in the outfits from last night—trousers creased, boots scuffed—but their tunics had been swapped for looser, more comfortable ones. Even so, they looked worn to the bone, exhaustion etched into their faces. Dark circles shadowed their eyes, red at the rims from strain and sleepless hours. A pang of guilt tugged at you, sharp and unwelcome, that they had carried the weight of the night alongside you.
Seonghwa’s voice cut through the murmur of the chamber, low but firm. “It seems we cannot cancel the summit in Charadyn, and after, in Kian. San and Wooyoung will go ahead and secure the skies, set a path, see that nothing waits for us unguarded.”
San exhaled through his nose, the faintest crease at his brow betraying what the evenness of his tone did not. “We may cancel the ball,” he continued, “but the summit must remain. If we falter now, the people will sense weakness—and that, we cannot allow.”
Wooyoung, who had been leaning back in his chair with restless wings shifting behind him, let out a dry laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Even with the ball canceled, they’ll notice something’s off,” he muttered, voice sharp with frustration. “The court feeds on whispers. One night of silence is enough to stir suspicion.”
The words settled into the room like heavy stone.
And then the door opened.
Yunho stepped in, tall frame filling the threshold, shoulders taut as though he bore the weight of the entire corridor with him. He paused only a moment, his eyes finding yours where you sat half-hidden in the shadows of Jongho’s chamber.
“You’re awake,” he said softly.
The sound of your shifting must have roused Jongho as well. He lifted his head from where he had been dozing lightly beside you, eyes meeting yours instantly, sharp with worry before softening into relief.
You nodded faintly, still dizzy from the weight of the prior night, your body aching not from wounds but from memory. The echo of it clung to you, heavy in your bones, pressing against your chest until each breath felt too shallow.
Yunho crossed the space between you with quiet steps, lowering himself to sit at your side. His presence was large, solid, filling the air around you in a way that was both overwhelming and grounding. He reached out, his hands warm against your chilled skin as he cupped your face, brushing a stray strand of hair back with careful fingers.
“You frightened us,” he whispered, as though the words themselves might break you if spoken too loud. His throat bobbed, his jaw tight, and for a heartbeat he looked like he might say more but couldn’t. His gaze flicked briefly toward Jongho—who hadn’t moved from his place beside you—before returning to you, steady and unflinching. “You frightened me.”
Jongho’s chamber had grown too heavy with silence, every breath shared between you and the kings.
It was Hongjoong who finally moved, rising from where he’d been standing near the hearth. His sharp gaze swept the room before settling on the others. “Enough,” he said, quiet but decisive. “The day waits for no one. Go—see to yourselves, to the guards, to the councilors still waiting for word. We’ll meet again at noon.”
Seonghwa inclined his head in acknowledgment, already gathering San and Wooyoung with a single glance. Wooyoung muttered under his breath as he pushed to his feet, wings restless, but he didn’t argue. Mingi lingered a moment longer, eyes flicking from you to Jongho before finally obeying, stepping out into the corridor with Yunho at his side.
Yeosang was the last to leave. He said nothing, but his gaze lingered on you, steady and unreadable, before he slipped from the chamber without sound.
The room felt different once the others had gone, it felt emptier, quieter, as though even the shadows had pulled back to give you space. Still, the air was heavy. You sat there on Jongho’s bed, wrapped in his tunic that smelled of cedar and smoke, and for the first time you realized how much your body trembled from exhaustion, from memory, from the unshakable echo of fear.
Hongjoong did not crowd you. He remained just a step away, his voice low and measured, giving you time to breathe between each word. “The summit in Charadyn cannot be canceled. Nor the one in Kian that follows. If we falter, we risk more than whispers, we risk revolt. That is why San and Wooyoung will fly ahead to clear the skies and set a path. The rest of us will travel on land.”
The words settled heavily, but not cruelly. He was not burdening you so much as offering you the truth, stripped bare, trusting you with it.
Your throat tightened. You wanted to argue, to beg for one moment of reprieve after the terror of last night—but even through the fear, you knew he was right. The world would not stop turning because your heart had cracked. And yet, some fragile part of you longed to believe it could.
Hongjoong’s gaze softened when he saw the conflict in your face. “You will not be left unguarded,” he said quietly. “Not for a single step.”
The reassurance sank deeper than you expected. You hadn’t realized until then just how much you had been bracing yourself—bracing for abandonment, for dismissal, for the kind of coldness you had always feared from power. Instead, here he was: a king, speaking as though your fear mattered more than appearances, more than the summit itself.
He stepped closer, the firelight catching faintly in his dark hair, and lowered his voice until it was for you alone. “You carry too much,” he murmured. “And I will not stand by and watch it break you. I am yours now. Remember that. Mine is the burden to carry, not yours. If I must bend the world to its knees so you may walk without fear, then that is what I will do.”
The promise in his voice was not loud, not grandiose, but it pressed into you with such force you felt your breath catch. Your throat worked, unable to form the words you wanted, so instead you nodded—small, trembling, but true.
Hongjoong’s hand lifted, hesitating for a fraction of a heartbeat before it settled lightly against the crown of your head. He bent, brushing his lips to your hair in the faintest of touches—an oath pressed into your skin.
It wasn’t a kiss of passion, not even of possession, but of reverence. Like he was sealing a promise that steadied you even as it made you ache.
You nodded faintly, unable to find words, but you knew he understood. The faint tremor in your shoulders eased beneath his touch, if only a little.
“A lady’s maid will be with you soon,” he said quietly, though the edge of command still lingered in his tone. “San and Wooyoung will take flight at noon, and the rest of us leave tomorrow at dawn. If you wish to stay with one of us tonight…” His gaze flickered, steady and intent. “Do not hesitate to tell me. You will not spend another night alone if you do not wish it.”
Noon had come too quickly for your liking. The hours bled together until it felt as though you had barely breathed before the moment was upon you. Part of you wished you had spoken to San and Wooyoung more about their days—their laughter, their stories, anything to carry with you when they were gone.
As you approached the palace gates, all eight kings stood waiting, a sight as imposing as it was grounding. Yet it was San and Wooyoung who drew your eye.
Gone were their gilded coats and polished silks. Instead, they wore leather and canvas, their attire cut for flight and travel rather than court. San’s dark tunic was cinched at the waist by a broad belt, his shoulders draped in a fitted cloak that looked worn but strong, the kind carried by men who lived by the road as much as by the sky. A pair of simple bracers guarded his wrists, and his boots were laced high, scuffed from long wear. He looked less like a king and more like the commander he was—the kind you could imagine leading warriors into the wilds, steady and unyielding.
Wooyoung, by contrast, seemed almost too bright for his gear. His leather jerkin was lighter, dyed a deep russet that brought out the warmth of his skin. A simple scarf was knotted loosely around his throat, and though his boots were as battered as San’s, he carried himself like it was all a game. His wings twitched restlessly behind him, catching the sunlight, and a teasing grin already tugged at his lips the moment he saw you.
“Careful, my lady,” Wooyoung drawled, bowing low in mock grandeur, though his eyes sparkled. “If you stare at us too long, the others will get jealous.”
San sighed softly, though the faintest smile ghosted across his mouth. “Don’t start.”
Wooyoung only leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough for you to hear. “Admit it! You’ll miss me most.”
You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped past your lips, though it wavered at the edges. Wooyoung’s grin widened triumphantly as though he had won some silent battle.
“Don’t mind him,” he said with a wink, gesturing lazily toward San. “He pretends he’s above teasing, but I’ve seen him smile more in your presence than in the last three councils combined.”
“Wooyoung,” San warned, his tone sharp, though his hand brushed your arm as he passed—steady, grounding, his warmth lingering even after he moved away.
You turned to him, meeting his gaze, and though his expression remained composed, his eyes told a different story. Softer, quieter. A promise unspoken.
“Travel safe,” you whispered.
San inclined his head, and when he leaned closer, his voice was low, meant only for you. “We’ll fly ahead, clear the way. When you follow, there will be nothing waiting for you but open skies.”
The words settled like a shield around your chest.
Then, without warning, Wooyoung leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. His lips lingered just long enough to make your cheeks warm before he drew back, mischief sparking in his eyes.
“Don’t forget about me, princess,” he teased, though his grin faltered for the barest instant, revealing the weight beneath the words.
Before you could reply, San did the same—his touch gentler, reverent, his lips brushing your forehead as though sealing his vow into your skin. “Until we see you again,” he murmured, and then he pulled back, wings unfurling in one sweeping motion that caught the light.
Side by side, they stepped toward the gates, their wings stretching wide, the sun flashing across feathers of bronze and gold before the air stirred and carried them upward.
You stood rooted to the stone, watching until they disappeared into the horizon, the ache of parting pulling tight in your chest.
You were lucky to get a breather by yourself. The corridors were heavier today, the air thick with the quiet march of guards posted at every turn. Their numbers had doubled, maybe tripled, since last night—a reminder of the danger pressed against your skin like cold steel.
You found your feet carrying you along a familiar path, until you stopped at a door you’d passed many times before. A hesitant knock.
It opened with a soft creak.
Yeosang was inside, his back to you at first, carefully tucking a few items into a worn leather satchel laid across the table. The lamplight caught the curve of his cheek, the calm lines of his face. He didn’t startle when you entered—just turned slowly, his dark eyes meeting yours with quiet acknowledgment, as though he’d been expecting you.
He was dressed in his usual palette of silver and deep green, though the fabrics were no longer the delicate silks you had grown used to seeing. A leather jerkin had replaced them, fitted neatly over his frame, lending him a more grounded air. It suited him in a way you hadn’t anticipated—less ethereal, more tangible, more charming.
You dropped your gaze quickly, afraid that if you lingered too long it would reveal too much—how eager you had been to watch him, how strangely safe his steadiness made you feel. Your hands worried at the hem of the loose top you wore, the fabric twisting under your fingers, as if it could excuse the heat creeping into your cheeks.
“You shouldn’t be walking alone,” he said simply.
“I know,” you admitted, voice softer than you intended. “I just… needed a minute.”
Yeosang studied you a moment longer. Then, without another word, he turned back to his bag, slipping a leather-bound journal inside with the same deliberate care he gave to everything.
Silence pressed between you, thick and uneasy. You shifted on your feet, suddenly too aware of the quiet scrape of his movements, of the way your own breathing sounded too loud in your ears. You weren’t sure if you should leave, or if he even wanted you there at all—but leaving felt harder than staying. The stillness of him, the steadiness, was both a comfort and a weight. And so you lingered, awkward in your own skin, desperate to fill the space with something, anything, that wasn’t just the sound of your restless thoughts.
“I read the last chapter of the book the morning of the ball,” you said, almost absently, as though speaking it aloud might tether you back to something normal.
Yeosang didn’t look at you. He continued brushing the dust from the cover of a journal before slipping it into his satchel. Only then did he speak, voice quiet, pared down to its barest edge.
“And your thoughts?”
You hesitated, your fingers stilling against the hem of your top. The memory of that last chapter was still sharp in your chest, sharper now that you stood here with him—the one who had given you the words when you couldn’t read them yourself.
“It was… different from what I thought it would be,” you admitted, your voice carrying more honesty than you’d meant to reveal. “I thought it would end in despair. That it would be about what they lost. What they could have been. But it wasn’t.”
You fiddled against your thumb, waiting for his response—only to be met with silence. The pause stretched long enough that you felt compelled to fill it.
“It was about how they kept going,” you went on, words tumbling faster than you meant them to. “About how love didn’t save them from pain, but it… gave them something worth staying for.”
His gaze lifted to you, unreadable. He regarded you for a long, measured breath before speaking, his voice low, deliberate.
Yeosang’s eyes shifted briefly to the satchel on the table, then back to you. “In the original tongue, Silent Wings was not meant as a tale of hope.”
Your brows knit slightly.
“Its verses were used to remind warriors of the dangers of attachment. Love, it said, is the death of a soldier. A man with something to lose will hesitate. A man with someone waiting for him will fear dying—and fear makes him weak.”
The words struck hard, colder than you expected, heavy with the weight of something ancient and merciless.
You let out a breath, a faint, disbelieving laugh breaking through the heaviness. “Then they must have been blind.”
His head tilted, just enough to show he was listening.
“Because the way I read it,” you continued softly, fingers curling tight around the hem of your top, “love wasn’t their end—it was the reason they endured. The knight didn’t stop fighting because he was afraid. He kept going because he wanted to come back. Isn’t that stronger than fear?”
For a moment, there was only silence between you. Yeosang’s expression didn’t shift much, his gaze locked onto yours. The faint candlelight caught in the dark of his eyes, making them glimmer, unreadable yet steady.
Finally, his voice came, low and even. “You should read it again.”
A scoff slipped out before you could stop it, disbelief bubbling past your lips.
“That’s all you have to say?”
Yeosang didn’t answer. His attention dropped back to his satchel, fingers brushing over the worn leather.
The silence stretched, heavy and awkward, and you felt the edge of frustration bite at you. All of that—everything you’d just said—and all he could give you was read it again?
Before you could press him further, a sharp knock rattled against the door.
“My lady?” a voice called through the wood—firm, formal. One of the palace guards. “King Seonghwa request your presence in the dining hall.”
You blinked, pulled from the weight of the moment, heart still tight in your chest.
Yeosang’s eyes flickered toward the door, then back to you. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, only held your gaze long enough for you to feel it—the steadiness of him, frustrating as it was grounding.
You looked down, unable to hold his gaze any longer. The floor blurred at the edges as your eyes stung, heat gathering against your lashes. You bit it back, swallowing hard, unwilling to let him see just how much his silence had cut.
Still, you risked one last glance—eyes lifting to him, searching for anything he wasn’t giving you. Nothing. Just that same steady, unreadable calm.
It made something inside you twist.
So you turned. One step, then another, until you were at the door. Your hand lingered on the frame for the barest moment—long enough to feel the ache of words unsaid press against your ribs, before you pushed it open and slipped into the corridor.
The quiet closed behind you like a final answer.
The door shut, and silence pressed in again.
Yeosang let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The stillness should have comforted him, it always had, but now it grated, heavy with the echo of your voice, your laugh, your presence, your pain.
He had felt it last night when the scream tore through the halls — and the sharp, irrational terror that nearly unmanned him. He defended himself as a rational man, but logic seems to abandoned him the moment he thought he might lose you.
That was the problem.
Attachment made men reckless. Weak. The old scripture of Silent Wings had warned him of this very thing. And yet, standing there, he knew he was slipping. Falling. He should have stayed silent, should have pushed you further from him.
But Gods, your eyes sought his calm and he falters.
He clenched his jaw, closing the satchel with more force than needed.
Distance is safe.
The sway of the horse slowed your thoughts, your body heavy with exhaustion. You let your head tilt against Seonghwa’s shoulder, comforted by the steady rise and fall of his breath.
“You getting tired, dove?” he murmured.
“Yeah,” you admitted softly.
“We’re almost there. We’ll camp out for the night, and you can rest,” he promised, voice low, the kind of tone that carried weight without sharpness.
You hummed in response, your gaze drifting to where Hongjoong’s figure led at the front. The rhythm of the hooves filled the silence, yet something in you wanted to keep it from settling too thick.
As the sun dipped low, painting the sky in bruised gold and violet, your body leaned into Seonghwa’s steady frame. The world blurred around you, but his presence was sharp—anchoring.
You could only replay the fragments of talk you’d shared with him through the long stretch of the day.
As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in molten shades of amber and rose, your thoughts slipped back to the day behind you.
Seonghwa had spoken softly, his words knitted close to your ears, and asked you about your childhood. For the first time, it felt as though you weren’t simply speaking to a king, but to a man who understood pieces of the world the way you did.
He gave you the kind of comfort that crept in quietly, like a fire that warmed the chill without you noticing until you leaned closer.
You tilted your head slightly, catching the way the last light touched the line of his profile. Strong, calm, patient. He didn’t fill the silence with needless words, and somehow that made the space between you safer, easier to breathe in.
Dawn broke quietly, the first pale light spilling over Caius’s high walls like a secret. The palace, usually alive with morning clamor, seemed hushed—its courtyards stripped of their usual bustle, its gates open not in ceremony but in silence.
Only a handful of guards waited, their dark leathers blending into shadow, halberds catching the faintest glint of the sun. A pair of carriages stood nearby, plain and unmarked, their wheels creaking softly as supplies were loaded inside. The horses stamped restlessly, the sound sharp against the stillness, but no crowd gathered, no courtiers lingered to watch.
You stood among them, cloaked in a mantle heavy enough to ward off the morning chill, yet still you felt the weight of eyes on you—curious, watchful, protective. Since the night before, Jongho had parted from you only briefly, his presence a steady wall between you and the rest of the world.
Hongjoong oversaw the final preparations, his voice clipped as he spoke with the captains, checking and rechecking the order of the march. Seonghwa stood at his shoulder, calm and composed, though his crown had been traded for a travel circlet, his white-and-bronze attire had been traded for plain, travel-worn leathers. The cut was simple, the colors muted—clothes that could pass as a soldier’s or a caravan rider’s.
Yeosang remained slightly apart, near the wagons, his gaze on the tree-line as though searching for what the eye could not see. Yunho and Mingi stayed closer, their large frames a reassurance for the of thoughts going through your head.
The stir of voices dulled as the last crate was secured, and for a moment the courtyard seemed to still. Seonghwa stepped away from Hongjoong’s side, his calm presence cutting through the morning hush as he crossed toward you
“We’re ready,” he said quietly, his tone carrying the weight of finality. His eyes lingered on you, steady but soft, as though measuring your unease against the road ahead.
You drew your cloak tighter, bracing against the chill.
“Where is my horse?” you asked, forcing steadiness into your voice.
Seonghwa tilted his head, a laugh escaping him, small but genuine. “You’ll be riding with me.”
Warmth crept up your cheeks before you could stop it. Of all the kings, he was the one you’d spent the least time with in Caius—always present, but distant, composed, busy with council matters. And yet here, with the promise of his body pressed close to yours on a single mount, your heart fluttered.
“You?” you managed.
“Unless you’d prefer to walk?” he teased, his voice threaded with a rare lightness.
Before you could think of a reply, his hand was already extended. You placed your fingers in his, and he closed around them firmly, guiding you toward the waiting horse. Its breath misted in the chill air, its dark coat shining faintly in the pale dawn.
Seonghwa mounted first with practiced ease, then turned in the saddle to face you. “Give me your hand,” he said, his tone steady, leaving little room for argument.
You hesitated only a heartbeat before placing your hand in his again. He leaned down, his other arm slipping around your waist as he lifted you effortlessly. The strength of his pull caught your breath, and suddenly you were pressed against the solid warmth of him, your cloak brushing against his leathers as he steadied you on the saddle.
For a moment, the world stilled. His arm lingered at your waist just long enough to send a flutter spiraling through you before he released you, adjusting the reins. His presence at your back was firm, his shoulder brushing yours as the horse shifted beneath you.
Seonghwa leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Hold steady.”
The journey began slow—it was going to be a long day. Mingi and Yunho rode to Seonghwa’s side, while Hongjoong led at the front, Jongho and Yeosang keeping the rear.
Your eyes wandered to the scenery, the stretch of sky and earth rolling endlessly before you. A thought tugged quietly at your chest: you’d miss this view when distance finally pulled you away from Caius.
“You do know you can lean back against me, right?” Seonghwa’s voice broke through your reverie, low and teasing. “You’re so tense.”
“Oh… yeah.”
You let yourself ease into him, your back settling against his chest. Comfort wrapped around you in unexpected warmth, and you heard a soft sigh escape him. Even through the layers of fabric between you, the faint brush of his presence tingled against your skin—a quiet reminder of the closeness you shared.
“Have you always lived in Caius?” Seonghwa asked after a moment.
“Uh, yeah. I used to live in the castle. My mother was one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting, and my father a soldier. We stayed inside the palace grounds, though I don’t remember much of it—I was just a baby.”
“You were born in the castle,” he murmured.
“Yeah,” you said, almost shyly.
“I’ve never seen you around?”
“I’m sure we were still children,” you said with a small laugh.
“But you moved?”
“Yes. My parents thought it would be better for me to grow up in the countryside, where my father was raised before he was admitted into service at the castle.”
“Isn’t your father a noble? He’s the brother of Lord Foren Valeir?”
“He is, yes. But he was only the second-born, so he was sent into training in the countryside — service to the king.”
“Right. My father.” Seonghwa’s voice dimmed, his gaze turning distant, almost heavy with disappointment. “He was a tyrant.”
You looked up at him, unsure what to say. After a pause, you offered softly, “My father always believed in king and country. He carried that pride like a banner. I grew up knowing nothing else but to acknowledge my nation.”
Seonghwa’s eyes lowered back to you, his expression softening into a faint smile. “What is country life like?”
“You would love it, Seonghwa.”
And so you told him. Hours passed as you spoke of the market just beyond the city, of your small studies, of the hospital by the sea where you had once wandered with your mother. He listened intently, never rushing you, his questions thoughtful and steady. For once, conversation felt effortless—like a thread weaving the two of you quietly closer together.
“We’ll be stopping here for the day. Let’s get stationed,” Hongjoong’s voice cut through your thoughts like the slice of a blade.
The horses slowed, hooves sinking into the softer earth as the group turned off the road. There were only nine of you—six royals, and two guards shadowing close—small enough to move quietly, yet still a presence.
The men dismounted first, hands steady on reins, words exchanged in low tones as they moved with practiced ease. Seonghwa slid down before offering you his hand, guiding you carefully to the ground. The stiffness in your legs made you falter for a step, but his touch lingered just long enough to steady you.
By the time the last light bled from the sky, a small fire had been coaxed to life. Tents were staked in neat lines, packs laid down, the scent of smoke curling into the air. Mingi carried kindling with a grin despite the weight, Yunho laughed under his breath at something Mingi muttered, and Jongho kept close by Hongjoong, helping unpack supplies with diligence.
The meal was simple—bread warmed by the fire, dried meat softened in broth, and a flask of spiced wine passed around in careful measure. It wasn’t the grandeur of the palace nor the bustling noise of Caius markets, but there was a comfort in it. Just firelight, the smell of smoke, and the quiet hum of voices breaking the silence of the wild.
You sat close enough to Seonghwa to feel the brush of his cloak when the wind shifted, and for a fleeting moment, you thought of how different this was from everything you’d known — intimate in its own way, fragile and strangely safe.
As the night bled out, shadows stretching long beyond the fire’s glow, you noticed Yunho rise from his place and drift a little away from the others. Something in the ease of his movements, the familiar curve of his shoulders, pulled you after him.
You found him standing beneath the open sky, the stars spilling bright across the dark. He glanced at you as you approached, his mouth already tugging into a small, knowing smile.
“Hey,” he said softly.
“Hi…” you answered, eyes dropping to the ground.
“Come sit with me, my love.”
You eased down beside him, close enough to feel his warmth. Above you, the sky stretched wide and endless, stars scattered like shards of glass, clouds drifting into shapes that begged to be named.
“Tell me what you’re thinking, love.” The word was endearing, wrapping around you like the warmest cloak in the coldest winter. He tilted his head until he was level with you, his gaze open, unguarded, bleeding with love.
“I just wanted to make sure we were okay,” you whispered, unable to meet his eyes.
“Hey… look at me.”
His hands came up to cradle your cheeks, gentle yet firm enough that you couldn’t turn away. His eyes locked onto yours, steady and unwavering, boring straight into the fragile parts of you.
“I apolagise,” he said quietly. “For lying. For not telling you everything when I should have. I thought I was protecting you. But it doesn’t matter. You deserved the truth from the start, and I hate that I made you doubt us.”
His thumb brushed lightly across your skin, a small, soothing gesture. “But do you really think I’d let anything come between us?”
“Courting you has been the greatest honor of my life. Every moment, every glance, every word—I’ve already given them to you. And I’d give them a thousand times over, because I’m so far gone, so deeply in love with you, I don’t remember what it was to live before you.”
Your heart stuttered. God, he really knew how to say the right things.
“I’m sorry too,” you whispered.
His lips curved into the faintest smile, tender but sure. “I know, love. I know.”
He drew you in then, one hand cradling your head as he guided you against his chest. You leaned into him, your back pressed to his warmth as you both sat in the grass, the night air cool around you, the stars scattered like fire above.
“We’re more than okay,” he murmured against your hair. “You’re all I want. You’ve always been all I want.”
You stayed in his arms for a while, the world quiet except for the crackle of the fire. The heaviness of confessions gave way to laughter, the two of you trading small, lighthearted jokes—your thoughts drifting toward Yunho and the mischief of his younger days.
Mingi had been the one to tell you first—laughing as he recalled how Yunho, still just a boy, had swapped the royal food orders during the closing dinner between Reed and Aeros.
Now, with Yunho seated near you, you couldn’t resist asking it from his own lips.
“Did you truly swap the royal food orders at the banquet?” you asked, your voice low but teasing, curiosity laced through your tone.
Yunho’s mouth curved into a grin, the kind that reached his eyes and caught the firelight.
“I did,” he admitted. “Though not exactly on purpose. I only meant to test how careless the stewards were with the parchments. I thought they’d catch it before the feast began.”
You arched a brow. “And instead, the grand banquet ended with pastries and sorbets in place of the main course?”
Color touched his ears, his composure faltering into sheepishness. “That part—” his gaze shot sideways at Mingi’s shadow from across the field, “—wasn’t planned. I didn’t know what was for desserts. But you should’ve seen their faces—it was almost worth the scolding.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “So you turned the most important dinner of the year into a dessert parade?”
“In my defense,” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck, “everyone enjoyed it. Even his father went back for seconds of the soufflés.”
“I didn’t know you were such a prankster. I always thought you were brooding.”
His grin widened. “Stay close enough, and you’ll learn I’m not.”
Laughter spilled between you, bright and unrestrained, echoing in the quiet field. For a moment, it felt as though the fire, the others, the long road ahead—all of it faded into nothing but the sound of his voice and the warmth of his presence beside you.
As the laughter died down, you found yourself still looking at him, breath caught on the curve of his grin. His eyes met yours, steady and searching, the air between you tightening into something unspoken.
Your smile faltered, softening. His did too.
Then his gaze flickered, quick but unmistakable, down to your lips. Your chest fluttered, and before you could stop yourself, your eyes traced the shape of his mouth in return.
Neither of you moved at first. The world seemed to still, the fire crackling in the distance, the night air cool against your skin.
Then Yunho leaned in, slow enough to let you pull away, close enough that his breath brushed yours. When you didn’t move, when your heart betrayed you with the way it raced, his lips found yours.
Warmth lingering as though the kiss itself was a question he had been waiting his whole life to ask.
And you answered, without hesitation.
Masterlist
seventeen | YUNHO MOODBOARD | nineteen
A/n: 8k words! i was really debating if i should just divide it into 2 but then i got confused on where i should divide it. I truly enjoyed writing this and oddly i am feeling excited to start writing as a form of relief from uni (class just started today!). Hopefully, this semester will go smoothly and quickly. I truly loved the amount of connection she is making! especially with yeosang i have so much planned! he is very much a hard person to understand! but you will understand why by the end of the story!
Anyways, chap 18 here, which means i will be releasing the first spin off from the serious. which is YUNHO's story. You will be able to find the king: new world spin off masterlist here! i am also planning to release the index soon, so please stay tuned. please give me any feedbacks! thank you.
A side tale of His Majesty King Yunho, the sovereign ruler of Reed from the New World.
Warnings: This story contains themes of instances of psychological and emotional distress, and intense pressure of royal expectations, which may be unsettling or distressing to some readers.
Reed was always quiet. Snow blanketed the land, muffling sound, and the sea beyond its icy cliffs whispered rather than roared. It had always been this way—calm, steady, enduring. And so was its young prince.
At twelve, Yunho already carried the stillness of his kingdom. He was not the kind of boy to chatter or rush ahead. He walked through the halls of his home with quiet steps, listening more than speaking. His father once told him that a ruler must be like the ice—strong, unyielding, and steady enough to hold the weight of those who relied on him.
His father was a man of few words. His presence alone was enough to command the room, and his gaze, sharp as a blade, often left others stiff and cautious. The people of Reed respected him, even feared him. He ruled with a kind of discipline that left little room for warmth.
But Yunho never feared his father.
It wasn’t that the king was kind—not in the way his mother was, with soft words and gentle hands—but he had never been cruel. His love was not something given freely but shown in ways most wouldn’t notice. He never raised his voice, but Yunho had always known that when he spoke, it mattered. And when the winter storms raged the hardest, the king would always check the fires in Yunho’s room before retiring for the night.
Even now, Yunho knew that if he ever fell, his father’s hand would be the one to pull him back up.
Though Reed’s lands were frozen, its palace never was. His home was proof of that. The fires were always burning, and love—though not loud—was always present.
So the cold never reached the dining hall of the royal palace. Though Reed was a land of ice and silence, the long wooden table where the royal family dined was always warm, the golden glow of candlelight flickering against the frost-covered windows.
Yunho sat in his usual place, across from his father and beside his mother, the quiet hum of supper filling the space. The clinking of silverware, the occasional crackle of firewood—it was peaceful, the kind of silence Yunho had grown to understand.
His mother, the Queen, was the only one who would truly disrupted it.
She talked. A lot.
“…and then I told the steward that if he ever let the kitchen run out of spiced wine again, I would personally drag him to the market myself! Can you imagine, Aldric? A winter feast without spiced wine? Unthinkable!”
Yunho listened, like he always did. His mother’s words flowed like a gentle stream, warm and endless. She talked about the servants, about the state of the marketplace, about the latest gossip among the noblewomen. None of it was particularly important, but it filled the space in a way that made their home feel… alive.
It was because of her that Yunho had learned to listen. Not just to words, but to the things left unsaid—the way voices shifted, the meaning behind pauses.
And because he listened, he noticed things.
Like the way his father always sat with his hands folded neatly over the table, barely speaking unless necessary. Or the way he never interrupted his wife’s ramblings, even when she exaggerated her stories.
And most of all, Yunho noticed the small, nearly invisible smile that would tug at the corner of the king’s lips whenever the queen made a joke.
His father never laughed outright, never shook with mirth the way others did. But there was always that subtle curve to his mouth, the way his eyes softened ever so slightly.
No one else ever seemed to catch it.
But Yunho did.
“…and then, oh, you should have seen his face when I told him the cat had eaten half the pastries before they even made it to the banquet hall! I thought he would faint right then and there!”
Silence. A long pause. Then—
A quiet exhale from the king. Not quite a laugh. But something close.
Yunho felt something warm settle in his chest.
This was what people outside of Reed didn’t understand. They thought of his father as cold, untouchable. But Yunho knew better. He saw the small things—the way his father checked the windows in their rooms at night, adjusted the blanket when they were asleep, the way he always walked beside them on icy paths, ensuring neither he nor his mother would slip.
Love didn’t have to be loud.
It could be silent, like falling snow.
And as Yunho picked up his cup of warm cider, listening to his mother’s next story, he thought that perhaps, in this small, quiet way, he was just like his father.
That night, after dinner, Yunho sat in the study with his father. The room was dimly lit, the glow of the fireplace casting long shadows against the stone walls. His father sat across from him, silent as always, reading over a letter sealed with an unfamiliar crest.
Yunho waited. He had learned from his father that silence always came before something important.
Finally, the king set the letter down. His sharp gaze met Yunho’s.
“Aeros will be visiting,” he said simply.
Yunho blinked. Aeros—the kingdom of the sky. The one that never stayed still. Unlike Reed, where discipline and order shaped daily life, Aeros was not known for its structure. Its people were free-spirited, drifting like the winds they lived upon.
“Why?” he asked.
His father leaned back slightly. “The Pact of the Eight Seals is still new. Bonds must be built, even among those who are… different.”
It had only been a short time since the Pact of the Eight Seals was signed, a fragile peace forming between the kingdoms. As a gesture of goodwill, Reed had invited a delegation from Aeros.
Yunho understood. He had heard enough political talk at court to know that peace did not come from words alone. It had to be maintained, strengthened. Even if it meant welcoming the wind into the land of ice.
His father studied him for a moment, as if gauging his thoughts. “Their prince is your age.”
Yunho wasn’t sure if that was meant to reassure him. If anything, it only raised more questions.
“…What is he like?”
King Aldric exhaled, glancing at the letter once more. “Restless.” A pause. Then, a faint, almost amused glint in his eyes. “You will see soon enough.”
He stood from his chair, reaching for the clasp of his heavy navy cloak. With a practiced motion, he unfastened it, letting the thick fabric slide off his shoulders before draping it over the chair. Beneath it, he wore only a simple tunic—practical, unadorned, yet somehow making him appear no less regal.
Yunho’s eyes flickered to the silver chain around his father’s neck. A wolf’s head, carved from dark metal, rested against his chest. The sapphire embedded in its eye shimmered under the pale glow of the moon filtering through the frosted window. His mother had made that necklace for him long ago, a rare personal gift from a woman who loved grand gestures.
His father caught Yunho staring but said nothing. Instead, he straightened, his expression returning to its usual unreadable calm.
“I need you to be on your best behavior,” he said. His voice was steady, firm—but not unkind.
Yunho nodded immediately. He had never needed reminders of how to behave. Still, the fact that his father was saying this now meant that Aeros was… different.
Different enough to warrant caution.
The winds howled over the snow-covered cliffs, sweeping through the frozen expanse where Reed and Aeros met. Yunho stood beside his parents at the border, wrapped in a thick fur-lined cloak. His breath formed pale clouds in the cold air, but he barely noticed. His sharp eyes were fixed on the sky.
Aeros had arrived.
A fleet of floating carriages, pulled by massive winged beasts, glided down with effortless grace. Dark shapes emerged from the clouds first—winged, powerful, gliding with effortless grace through the cold wind. Then, the sun caught them, revealing massive dragons in deep shades of blue and gold, their scales gleaming under the pale winter light. The creatures flapped their immense wings once before landing with a soft crunch against the frost-covered ground. The banners of Aeros, light blue and gold, rippled in the wind.
Yunho held his ground as the beasts landed, snow billowing from the force of their arrival. The dragons’ breath steamed against the freezing air, their massive chests rising and falling in sync. Gold-plated saddles gleamed along their backs, carrying the figures of Aerosian royals and their guards.
The moment the first carriage door opened, King Aldric stepped forward. He did not hesitate, did not pause to study his guests. As soon as King Hadrian of Aeros emerged, the two men met at the center of the clearing.
The difference between them was stark.
Aldric, wrapped in winter’s quiet authority, carried himself with measured strength. His posture was firm, unyielding, his silver-grey gaze unreadable beneath the heavy weight of the cold.
Hadrian was his opposite. Dressed in flowing layers that moved with the breeze, he had an air of effortless confidence. His golden hair was windswept, his sky-blue eyes holding an easy warmth that did not match the frozen ground beneath his feet.
They clasped hands firmly—A moment of silent understanding passed between them. Then, a small nod.
The peace held.
Yunho barely had time to process the interaction before movement caught his eye. His mother, Queen Lysandra, had already stepped past his father. Before Yunho could blink, she wrapped the Queen of Aeros in a firm embrace.
"Lysandra!" Queen Evelyne’s voice was bright with laughter as she returned the hug. "It has been far too long!"
"Far too long," his mother agreed, pulling back just enough to study her friend’s face. "Look at you! Still floating through life as if gravity doesn’t apply to you."
Evelyne grinned, her golden curls bouncing as she tilted her head. "And you, still trying to freeze time itself. How does Aldric stand it?"
His mother smirked. "Patience."
Yunho caught it again—the almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his father’s lips.
So their queens were friends. That explained why this meeting felt less like a tense negotiation and more like a long-overdue reunion.
Still, Yunho kept his back straight, his expression composed. He knew better than to assume the visit would remain this lighthearted.
The coat draped over his small frame was clearly too big, its fabric flowing around him with every movement. The crown on his head sat slightly askew, and in all honesty, even the crest resting against his chest hung crookedly, as if everything about him refused to stay in place.
Prince Mingi.
The boy he was expected to befriend.
The grand hall of Reed’s castle was a fortress against the winter’s bite, warmed by roaring hearths and the steady glow of lanterns. Though the stone walls carried the weight of history, tonight, they stood witness to something far more personal—the meeting of two kingdoms, of two kings, of two sons.
King Aldric spoke first. “Welcome to Reed. I expect the journey was not too harsh?” His voice was steady, unshaken by the cold winds that whistled through the cliffs.
Hadrian chuckled, adjusting the leather gloves on his hands. “Not at all. A little ice never frightened an Aerosian.” He cast a glance at his son. “Mingi enjoyed himself, didn’t you?”
Mingi grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “The winds were rough, but nothing too bad.” He turned to Yunho, his eyes glinting with a playful edge. “The skies were beautiful up there. Have you ever flown that high before?”
Yunho met his gaze evenly. “Reed’s winds do not welcome careless flying.” His tone was polite, but firm. He had learned from his father that words did not need to be sharp to cut.
Mingi blinked, then let out a small chuckle. “So, no then.”
King Aldric gestured between them. “My son, Prince Yunho.” His eyes flickered toward the boy standing beside Hadrian. “And this is your son?”
Hadrian rested a hand on Mingi’s shoulder. “Prince Mingi.” He grinned slightly. “Restless, as I warned.”
“Unruly,” Aldric responded dryly.
Hadrian laughed. “Aeros does not raise silent sons.”
Yunho stole a glance at his father, noting the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. It disappeared as quickly as it came.
Evelyne sighed dramatically. “Let’s hope this visit does not end in a diplomatic disaster.”
Lysandra smirked. “With boys, that is always a risk.”
As their fathers disappeared behind heavy doors, diving into matters of state, and their mothers settled into quiet conversation by the hearth, Yunho found himself in an entirely different battle.
He was left alone with Prince Mingi.
And Mingi could talk.
“Oh, wow, the halls here are huge. Are they all like this? I thought Reed would be more—oh, I don’t know—compact? Maybe because of the cold? But no, everything’s just tall, and sharp, and dramatic. Actually, that fits. You guys are kind of dramatic, in a cold, quiet way—hey, do you actually like it here? Don’t you get bored? No offense, but everything is just so still.”
Yunho blinked.
Mingi was still talking.
“Back home, there’s always something moving, you know? The islands shift, the winds shift, people shift—like, we’re never just still. Even the air’s different. Here, it’s thick, like it’s trying to slow me down. But maybe that’s just me. Anyway, what do you do for fun?”
Yunho finally found an opening. “…Fun?”
“Yes, fun! You do know what that is, right?”
Yunho stared at him blankly.
Mingi let out a groan, slumping forward dramatically. “Oh, this is going to be harder than I thought.”
Yunho had never met anyone who talked more than his mother. He wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or exhausted.
And yet, despite himself, he found that he didn’t mind it. Mingi talked enough for the both of them, and Yunho, a boy of few words, found it oddly… convenient. He didn’t have to fill the silence. He didn’t have to search for the right thing to say. He could just listen.
And strangely, he found himself replying more than he expected.
By the time the evening stretched on, Yunho had led Mingi through the halls, past the towering windows where the frost clung thickly to the glass, down to the practice grounds where the snow had been cleared, and to the stables where their dragons were resting from the long flight.
“Okay, I’ll admit,” Mingi said, running a hand along the dark scales of his dragon’s snout. “Your home is pretty cool.”
Yunho raised a brow. “You thought it wouldn’t be?”
Mingi grinned. “Not cool like cold—cool like… cool.” He turned to him, eyes glinting mischievously. “You know, you’re not bad either, Prince Yunho.”
Yunho regarded him for a moment, then exhaled softly. “Neither are you… Prince Mingi.”
Mingi threw an arm around his shoulder. “Ah, see? We’re already getting along.”
Yunho sighed, but didn’t pull away.
The days that followed passed in a quiet blur.
Despite their differences, Yunho found himself constantly in Mingi’s company. Wherever he went, the Aerosian prince followed—talking, questioning, dragging him into conversations he never intended to have. The stillness of Reed had never been so thoroughly disrupted.
Mingi had a habit of filling every quiet moment with words, and Yunho, to his own surprise, had grown accustomed to it. He didn’t always reply, but Mingi never seemed to mind. Sometimes, Yunho caught himself answering before he even realized it.
And now, the visit was nearing its end.
But Mingi had never been one to sit still, and certainly not on his last night in Reed. Which was exactly why Mingi had no hesitation in roping Yunho into one of his infamous schemes.
“Come on,” he urged, nudging Yunho’s arm. “One last adventure before I leave.”
Yunho gave him a flat look. “It’s dinner soon.”
“Exactly! That’s why we need to do something before we get stuck at the table listening to the adults talk about taxes and treaties.” Mingi’s grin was all trouble, eyes alight with mischief. “We should do something memorable.”
Yunho’s gaze flickered toward him warily. He had learned by now that Mingi’s idea of "memorable" often meant something reckless. “Like what?”
Mingi hummed in exaggerated thought, tapping his chin before snapping his fingers. “Let’s swap the dinner menu.”
Yunho stopped walking. He turned his head slowly, staring. “…What?”
Mingi leaned in, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “Think about it. Every meal has been exactly the same. Stiff, formal, perfectly arranged—just like you.” His smirk deepened. “Let’s shake things up. We’ll swap out the dishes for something fun.”
“That is not how royal dinners work.”
Mingi shrugged, rocking back on his heels. “Who says? You’re a prince. I’m a prince. We have some say in this, don’t we?”
Yunho’s jaw tightened. It was ridiculous. It was unnecessary. It was—
His steps slowed.
For a moment, he let himself consider it.
The meals in Reed were orderly, structured. Every dish prepared with precision, every course placed with meticulous care. A reflection of the kingdom itself. A reflection of him.
And yet, as he thought about it, something itched at the back of his mind. A memory of the way Mingi had laughed freely over meals, of how, even in the cold halls of Reed, his presence had felt like movement, like something warm pressing against the stillness.
Yunho exhaled, rubbing his fingers against his temple. This was absurd. He would regret it.
“…Fine.”
Mingi nearly jumped in place. “I knew there was a troublemaker somewhere in you. Let’s go to the kitchen.”
Yunho barely had time to regret his decision before Mingi grabbed his wrist and tugged him along, weaving through the halls of Reed’s castle with practiced ease. Yunho could only assume that Mingi had memorized the layout better than he had intended—or more likely, had spent the past few days sneaking around where he shouldn’t.
By the time they slipped into the kitchen, Yunho’s pulse had settled into something steady, almost expectant. The kitchen was warm, a sharp contrast to the cold stone corridors outside. The scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread filled the air, but the kitchen staff barely spared them a glance. Whether it was because they were too busy or because they knew better than to question princes, Yunho wasn’t sure.
Mingi didn’t hesitate. He strode forward, surveying the counters filled with carefully plated dishes. “Alright,” he said, spinning to face Yunho, “what’s Reed’s best dish?”
Yunho blinked, immediately recalling the structured courses of a formal dinner—rich venison stews, carefully layered fish dishes, roasted meats arranged with mathematical precision. Everything had an order, a process, a reason.
Mingi groaned before Yunho could answer. “Forget it. I can already tell you’re about to say something boring. Let’s make it fun.” He grabbed the labels.
Mingi’s grin widened as he grabbed a quill and dipped it in ink. “Since Reed is cold, what if we swapped the royal food orders and made dessert the main course?”
Yunho stared at him. The idea was absurd—an outright disruption of the structured balance that defined Reed’s traditions. And yet… it was amusing. More than that, it was tempting.
Mingi arched a brow, waiting for Yunho’s rejection, for the stiff prince to dismiss him with the same practiced formality he had done countless times before. But instead, Yunho found himself exhaling a quiet chuckle.
He reached for the parchment.
Mingi nearly dropped the quill in shock before hastily shoving it into Yunho’s hand. “Now you’re getting it,” he whispered excitedly, watching as Yunho carefully copied the course order in his neat, measured script—only now, warm honeyed pastries, fruit tarts, and ice sorbets sat where roasted meats and spiced stews should have been.
They slipped the parchment back into place. The deed was done.
The boys barely made it out before the head chef returned, his voice rising into a furious string of curses.
“Who keeps changing the royal food orders mere HOURS before the dinner?!” The man’s bellow carried through the halls, followed by the frantic clatter of pots and chopping knives.
Yunho and Mingi ducked behind a stone column, listening as the kitchen erupted into controlled chaos. The staff scrambled to adjust, barking orders to one another as the revised list was set into motion.
Mingi clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter, his shoulders trembling. Yunho, still pressed against the cold stone, felt his pulse hammering in his throat. It was reckless. It was utterly improper.
And yet—
A slow, unfamiliar warmth curled in his chest.
He glanced at Mingi, whose eyes sparkled with unrestrained glee, and something about the moment made Yunho want to hold onto it just a little longer.
For once, he wasn’t just the son of King Aldric.
He was simply a boy, caught in a moment of foolish rebellion with his newfound friend.
The dining hall was filled with the low hum of conversation as nobles and esteemed guests settled into their seats. Yunho, now dressed in formal attire, still found himself chuckling softly with Mingi as they made their way to the long banquet table. The lingering amusement from their mischief clung to him, making him feel strangely weightless despite the usual stiffness of royal gatherings.
The first course was served—something normal, a light broth with freshly baked bread. The dinner proceeded as expected, conversations flowing, goblets filled, and the warmth of candlelight flickering across the polished silverware.
Then, the main course arrived.
The grand trays were uncovered, revealing delicate honeyed pastries, layered fruit tarts, and elegantly sculpted ice sorbets, their frosted surfaces glistening under the candlelight. Chilled berry soufflés and spiced snowdrift puddings sat alongside plates of frozen cream drizzled with syrup, each dish a vision of winter’s embrace. A ripple of confusion passed through the room. Murmurs started, nobles exchanging bewildered glances as a meal of decadence and cold sweetness took the place of the expected rich meats and hearty stews.
Across the table, Yunho and Mingi stifled their laughter—until Yunho made the mistake of looking up.
His father’s gaze was fixed on him, cold and hard, cutting through the flickering candlelight like a blade of ice.
Yunho swallowed, his amusement dying in an instant. He straightened in his chair, forcing his expression into neutrality.
Sensing the shift in mood, his mother, Queen Lysandra, quickly stepped in, offering a graceful smile. “We enjoy the cold,” she said smoothly, lifting a delicate fork to her plate. “So it is only fitting that we have dessert as our main course.”
A pause.
Then, to Yunho’s relief, laughter broke the tension—first from Queen Evelyne, who clapped her hands together, and then from King Hadrian, whose booming chuckle filled the hall.
“Well,” Hadrian mused, lifting a spoonful of custard, “Aerosians do love a little chaos at the table.”
Mingi beamed, nudging Yunho under the table as if to say, See? That wasn’t so bad.
But Yunho wasn’t sure whether he had truly escaped unscathed. His father had yet to say a word.
Even as dinner continued, Yunho was shaking in his seat. He barely touched his plate, his appetite drowned by the weight of his father’s gaze. Every so often, he stole subtle glances in his direction, but even in the midst of his discussion with King Hadrian, Aldric’s eyes never truly left him. It was a silent warning, a cold pressure that settled over Yunho’s shoulders like the frost outside the castle walls.
By the time the meal drew to a close, Yunho felt the tension in his chest tighten. The royal family of Aeros had retired for the night, preparing for their long journey home at dawn. The nobles slowly trickled out of the hall, laughter and conversation fading into the distance. Yunho had just started to rise from his chair when his father’s voice cut through the air like ice.
“Yunho. Come with me.”
Yunho stiffened. His fingers clenched around the fabric of his tunic before he quickly let go, willing himself to move.
Before he could take a step, his mother spoke up, her voice gentle yet firm. “Aldric, don’t be so hard on him.”
Her words lingered between them, a soft plea against the unyielding cold. But Yunho knew better than to hope for leniency. His father did not raise silent sons, but neither did he raise careless ones.
The halls of Reed’s castle had always been cold, but tonight, the chill seeped into Yunho’s bones in a way that had nothing to do with the weather outside. His legs felt stiff as he walked, his usually steady pace disrupted by the weight pressing against his chest. The silence between him and his father was thick, stretching unbearably with each step toward the study. Every footfall echoed, ringing loud in Yunho’s ears, but even louder was the sound of his own heartbeat, thudding relentlessly against his ribs.
The bile in his throat rose each time he tried to swallow it down. He had never feared his father before—not truly. King Aldric was not cruel. He did not shout, nor did he strike. His discipline was ice, not fire—measured, controlled, and absolute. But for the first time, Yunho wondered if tonight would be different. If the king would finally break his cold exterior and raise his voice.
They reached the heavy wooden doors of the study. Aldric pushed them open without a word, stepping inside first. Yunho followed, his fingers twitching at his sides as he crossed the threshold. The room was dimly lit, the glow of the fireplace casting flickering shadows along the stone walls. Stacks of parchment lay neatly on the desk, the faint scent of ink and parchment mingling with the ever-present chill of the room.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Yunho stood frozen, his gaze fixed downward, unwilling to meet his father’s eyes. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, as if bracing himself for whatever punishment was to come. He could feel the weight of his father’s stare—heavy, unreadable, and utterly suffocating.
Then, cutting through the silence, he heard something unexpected.
A laugh.
Deep, quiet, and unmistakably amused.
Yunho’s head snapped up in disbelief.
King Aldric was laughing. Not the sharp, humorless exhale Yunho had heard in court, nor the rare amused huff he sometimes allowed when Yunho’s mother made a particularly ridiculous joke. No, this was different—low and rumbling, as if he were holding back.
Yunho remained stiff, unable to process what he was witnessing. His father—Reed’s cold and unshakable king—stood with one hand resting on his desk, his shoulders slightly shaking, his navy cloak barely settled from where he had tossed it aside. His piercing gaze, usually so controlled, flickered with something unreadable.
"You switched the royal menu," Aldric finally said, his voice still carrying a trace of laughter.
Yunho swallowed. "Yes, Father."
"And you thought no one would notice?"
Yunho hesitated, glancing toward the floor again. He had thought about arguing, about explaining that technically, it had still been a proper meal, just in an unusual order. But that line of defense felt laughable now.
"I—" He bit his tongue, realizing there was no reasonable excuse.
Aldric regarded him for a long moment, then, to Yunho’s utter shock, the corners of his lips twitched. "It was amusing, my son."
Yunho’s eyes snapped up, searching his father’s face for any sign of deception. But there was none. The words were spoken with a rare, fleeting warmth—gone as quickly as they had come.
His father did not laugh again, nor did he offer any further praise. But somehow, that single sentence felt heavier than any reprimand. Aldric exhaled sharply, shaking his head. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and for a split second, Yunho tensed. But instead of scolding him, his father merely placed a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"You are my son," Aldric murmured. "Not once have I ever doubted that."
Yunho blinked, confused by the shift in tone.
"But Reed is not Aeros," his father continued. "We do not act on whimsy. We do not indulge in reckless amusements. You will be king one day, and kings do not play." His grip tightened, not painfully, but firmly enough that Yunho felt the weight of every word. "You are free to find humor, but never forget your duty."
Yunho nodded automatically, but Aldric did not release him.
"You do not fear me, do you?"
The question caught him off guard. Yunho's lips parted slightly before he forced them shut. His father had never asked something like that before.
"I respect you," Yunho answered carefully.
Aldric's expression did not change, but Yunho thought he saw something in his gaze—something softer, deeper, just for a moment.
"Good," his father said at last, stepping back. "Then be worthy of that respect."
Yunho straightened his back. "Yes, Father."
The king studied him for a moment longer before turning toward his desk. "Go to bed. It’s late."
Yunho hesitated before bowing his head. He turned to leave, pausing briefly at the door. For a moment, he thought about saying something more—something about how Mingi had convinced him, or how he hadn’t meant any real harm. But the words felt unnecessary.
Instead, he simply murmured, "Goodnight, Father."
King Aldric did not look up from his papers, but Yunho caught the faintest dip of his head, acknowledging him.
And for the first time that night, Yunho let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Spin-Off Masterlist | New World Masterlist
eighteen | CURRENT | nineteen
a/n: finally the long awaied spin off is here! this is the second side tale i've wrote for the kings. a little background of yunho's family and why he is so attentive. i think mingi and yunho have such a good relationship in real life so i implemented here. plus the story is really funny to write, and his mother is just such a sweetheart (y/n reminds him of his mother). i think its such an eye opener on why yunho is such a sweet kid in this story. and grew up to be such a mature man even though he is quite strict and cold.
Pairing: Ot8 Ateez x reader
AU: fantasy AU | stranger -> mates
Summary: In Hala, a house of eight kingdoms, each boasting its own wonders, you never imagined that amidst the pain, you would also fall—this time, in love.
Word Count: 8.2k | 35 mins
Warning: This chapter contains aftermath of violence, emotional distress, panic, descriptions of blood, and consensual physical intimacy (kissing). Please do not read if you are sensitive to such content.
Everything after the scream blurred together.
You could remember Jongho first—his face paling as he burst through the threshold, sword half-drawn until he registered it was you. He crossed the room in strides too fast to follow, scooping you into his arms before your knees could give out beneath you. His voice had been in your ear, low and urgent, though you couldn’t recall the words—only the steady tremor of his chest against your cheek, the faint, grounding rhythm of his breath.
Your lips moved uselessly, mumbling the only truth you could cling to. “No…please…I’m scared…” The word cracked each time it left you, broken and small, until Jongho hushed you with a firmer hold, his hand pressing protectively at the back of your head. And you could hear him whispering over and over, “You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you. I’m here.”
Then came the others.
Seonghwa strode in next, the candlelight flashing against his white and bronze attire, crown casting sharp shadows across his features. His gaze swept the room once and darkened. The words scrawled above your bed, the heart pinned cruelly to the wall, the doves and eagles splayed across crimson-stained sheets—he took it all in with chilling clarity before his voice cut like steel through the chaos.
“Seal the wing. No one enters, no one leaves. Find me who allowed this breach.”
Hongjoong was at his side, eyes narrowing, already calculating. His hand brushed the hilt of his sword though he didn’t draw it; his weapon was his mind, and it moved quick, sharp. He muttered orders to the steward, voice clipped, his gaze flicking between the horror on the wall and the terror still etched into your trembling frame.
Wooyoung’s arrival was louder, less contained—a curse ripped from his lips, feathers flaring in outrage. His fury was raw, unpolished, dangerous. He stalked toward the bed but San caught his arm before he could disturb the scene, his quiet restraint like a leash on Wooyoung’s temper.
San’s expression was grave, but his presence at your side was steady, unyielding. He lowered himself slightly, wings folding in close, his voice calm but laced with heat as he spoke to you. “You’re not alone. Do you hear me? You’re not alone in this.”
Yeosang entered last, slower, more deliberate. His eyes did not widen or flare like the others—if anything, they darkened to something unreadable, cold as a blade’s edge. He studied the words carved above your bed with quiet intensity, his silence a warning in itself. When his gaze finally shifted to you, it softened only a fraction, but enough to betray the storm brewing behind his calm.
Yunho was there too, shoulders taut as he froze in the doorway. His eyes locked on the bed, on the blood, on you—then his jaw clenched, composure shattering for the briefest second before he forced it back. He said nothing, but his gaze burned as though willing himself to take the horror from you if only he could.
Mingi’s broad frame filled the space just behind him. Unlike the others, he didn’t look at the bed first—he looked at you, at the way you shook in Jongho’s arms. His throat worked, words catching before he managed, low and pained, “She doesn’t deserve this.” His fists curled tight at his sides, trembling with fury he barely contained.
Jongho held you tighter as the room filled with command, fury, and promise, shielding you from the worst of their stares. Yet even through your tears, you could feel it—the vow uniting them all, spoken not in words, but in the way the air itself seemed to shift around you.
“Jongho, get her out of here,” Hongjoong barked to the youngest, sharp and final. His gaze flicked past you, hard.
“Mingi, go with them.”
The last thing you heard as Jongho carried you across the threshold, Mingi’s falling close behind, was Seonghwa’s crown catching the light—just before a voice, low and cutting, bit through the chamber:
“How could you have let this happen, Seonghwa?”
The words were the last sharp edge you heard before the chaos dimmed behind you.
Jongho steps were unhurried but sure, as though the very walls might crumble if he let you falter. Mingi’s presence loomed close behind, broad and silent, his shadow falling over you like a shield. Neither spoke—their silence was its own promise, their calm a wall against the terror still echoing in your chest.
The noise of the hall faded with every step, replaced by the quiet rhythm of Jongho’s heartbeat where your ear rested against him. Steady. Constant. Safe.
Jongho’s chambers were dimly lit, a single lantern burning low on the carved stand, its flame casting soft gold across the room. The air carried his scent—incense and burnt wood, threaded through with something unmistakably his, warm and steadying. He pushed the door shut with his shoulder and crossed to the bed, holding you as if you were porcelain that might crack.
He set you carefully on the middle of his bed, and you felt the give of it beneath your palms. The coverlet was thick, velvet-like, cool at first touch before your trembling fingers sank into its softness. Behind you, the carved headboard rose dark and solid, its surface polished smooth by years of use. The bed smelled faintly of him too, of smoke lingering in cloth, of something sharp and clean threaded through with warmth.
Jongho didn’t move far. Instead, he sat beside you, close enough that the weight of him on the mattress steadied your wavering frame. His hand brushed your arm, firm and gentle all at once, anchoring you where you sat. His voice, low and rough-edged, threaded through the silence.
“I’m here, my heart. No one touches you in these walls.”
The words—so steady, so certain—unraveled something deep inside you. Your knees drew in tight against your chest, your face burying into your hands as sobs clawed free.
Gods, what had you done?
What peril had you stumbled into, falling into waters as dangerous as this, into a world of crowns and daggers dressed in silk?
Jongho’s chest ached at the sight, and Mingi’s fists clenched at his sides. To see you undone like this—tearful, shaking—splintered them both in ways words could never touch. If it were left to them, they would hunt whoever had dared mar you tonight, drag them into the light, and make them bleed for every tear you shed.
You cried until your throat ached, until your body felt hollow and raw. The silence that followed was heavy, punctuated only by the faint crackle of the lantern flame. Then, the door creaked open and closed again. You lifted your head, bleary-eyed, but found only Jongho still with you.
“He went to fetch water,” Jongho murmured, brushing a strand of damp hair from your cheek, his touch careful as if you might break. “Mingi will be back soon.”
The words settled somewhere distant, muffled by the weight pressing against your chest. You were still in the same dress—silk clinging heavy against your skin, the threads a reminder of where you had been, of the eyes that had watched, of the hands that had hurt. Every fold of fabric felt wrong, suffocating, steeped in memories you wanted ripped away from you. The room, the bed, even the faint scent of incense couldn’t untangle you from the truth of it: you had stood too close to death, close enough that its shadow still clung to you. And this dress wrapped around your body, was a tether back to it all.
You sniffled, your voice small, raw. “Can I… can I change?”
Jongho nodded without hesitation, rising to fetch something from the chest at the foot of his bed. When he returned, he held out a tunic—loose and long, the fabric smelling faintly of him, of incense and charred cedar. He set it gently in your lap, as though the simple act of offering it was a vow in itself.
“Here. I’m not sure if I have anything your size, but this should do.” His voice was soft, almost apologetic, as he passed it to you.
You nodded, fingers brushing the fabric, but your gaze lingered on him instead.
“I’ll leave so you can change,” Jongho said after a beat, already half-rising from the bed.
“...No.” The word tumbled out sharper than you meant it, trembling, raw. Your eyes flickered up to his, wide, pleading. “Please… I’m scared.”
The sound of your voice like that—so small, so broken—pierced him deeper than any blade. Jongho prided himself on being strong, unshaken even in the face of battle, but those words sank into him like barbs, twisting until they crawled right through his chest.
He drew a breath, steadying himself, then sank back down onto the mattress beside you. His voice was low, careful, a promise wrapped in restraint.
“I’ll turn around,” he murmured, “so you can see me if anything’s wrong. I won’t go anywhere.”
And true to his word, he shifted, broad shoulders turning just enough to give you privacy, but not so far that his presence left you. His hand lingered against the edge of the mattress, open, waiting—silent reassurance that if your fear rose, you need only reach for him.
You sat there for a long moment, clutching the tunic in your lap, the fabric soft against your trembling fingers. The weight of your gown pressed heavy against you, layers of silk and boning and ties that suddenly felt suffocating.
Your throat tightened. Normally, you’d have a maid’s careful hands undoing each knot, each clasp, peeling the layers away with practiced ease. Now, there was only you—shaking, fumbling, still caught between the terror of what you had seen and the fragile safety of this room.
Jongho stayed still, his back turned, broad shoulders a quiet wall between you and the dark. His presence anchored you, steady as stone, though he made no move to intrude. Only his voice reached you, low and careful.
“Take your time. I’m right here.”
Your hands slipped at the ties, frustration knotting with your fear. Piece by piece, you managed, until the gown slid from your shoulders with a whisper of fabric and pooled heavily at your feet. You were left in your undergarments, bare enough to feel exposed but not so much that modesty abandoned you completely.
Quickly, you pulled the tunic over your head. It swallowed you whole, the hem brushing your thighs, sleeves falling loose over your wrists. It smelled of him—burnt wood, cedar, and the faintest hint of incense. The fabric was warm where it had been pressed to his chest, and against your skin it felt like protection, like something solid to hold onto.
You drew your knees up slightly, the oversized fabric draping around you like a shield. For the first time since entering your chambers, the air didn’t feel like it was pressing in to choke you.
“Jongho,” you whispered, voice catching.
He turned his head just enough that you could see the side of his face, his profile lit by the flicker of the lamp. His jaw was tight, his mouth a thin line—as though he were holding back the storm threatening to break inside him.
When his eyes finally met yours, they softened. He shifted, turning fully toward you now, his hand reaching across the space between you. His fingers brushed your sleeve, the faintest touch, careful as if he feared you might shatter.
“You’re safe now,” he said quietly, the words steady despite the heaviness in his voice. “Do you believe me?”
Your throat worked, but you couldn’t quite answer. Instead, you nodded, the movement small, uncertain.
Jongho’s gaze lingered, searching your face as though he wanted to etch every tear into memory, to carry it for you. Then, slowly, he reached up, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The gesture was tender, almost reverent, and his hand lingered a moment longer against your cheek before he pulled back.
He shifted to move toward the end of the bed, your hand shot out, tugging at his sleeve before he could rise.
“Jongho…” your voice was barely above a whisper, threaded with exhaustion and fear. You swallowed hard, the plea trembling out of you before you could stop it. “Stay. Please… just—lay here. With me.”
His eyes widened, surprise flickering across his features. For a moment he said nothing, only searched your face as though making certain he had heard you right.
“Please,” you repeated, softer this time, your fingers still curled in the fabric of his sleeve. “I’m… I’m scared.”
Jongho’s breath caught, his chest rising once before he let it out slowly, as though steadying himself. You saw the way his jaw clenched, how every instinct warred with the discipline he’d built as a soldier, as a protector. But then, he shifted—wordless—slipping carefully onto the mattress beside you.
He lay on top of the covers, leaving space, his arm bent beneath his head. Still, the nearness of him filled the void you hadn’t even realized was gaping inside you. His scent—burnt wood, cedar, and the faint smoke of incense—wrapped around you like another blanket, anchoring you to the present. His restraint was almost painful to watch, as though every muscle in him ached to pull you close but he forced himself to remain still.
You stared at the ceiling for a long moment, your heart thudding unevenly in your chest. The silence pressed in until you couldn’t bear it anymore. Slowly, almost timidly, you shifted—rolling toward him, close enough that your shoulder brushed the warmth of his arm.
Jongho’s breath hitched, but he didn’t move.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic, holding onto him the way a drowning soul clings to driftwood. “Don’t just lie there,” you whispered, your voice small, trembling. “Please…”
That was all it took. His arm came around you, careful, protective, drawing you against the solid wall of his chest. You buried your face there, the scent of cedar and smoke filling your lungs, grounding you more than words ever could.
Jongho’s hand spread gently against your back, the steady weight of it quieting the last of your trembling. His lips brushed your temple—barely there, more breath than touch—as he murmured, low and fierce, “I’ve got you. Sleep, my heart. I won’t let go.”
And wrapped in his warmth, in the quiet thunder of his heartbeat, you finally felt the night’s horrors begin to loosen their grip.
You stirred at the murmur of voices, the sound threading through your half-dreams until it pulled you awake. The soft creak of a door opening followed, and when your eyes fluttered open, the blurred shapes of the kings sharpened into view.
Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Wooyoung, and San stood at the center of the chamber mid-conversation, their low voices edged with the weight of strategy. Mingi leaned against the far wall, broad shoulders tense as his gaze stayed fixed on them, silent but watchful. Yeosang stood at the window, wings folded close, his eyes trained on the horizon as though searching for unseen threats.
They were all still in the outfits from last night—trousers creased, boots scuffed—but their tunics had been swapped for looser, more comfortable ones. Even so, they looked worn to the bone, exhaustion etched into their faces. Dark circles shadowed their eyes, red at the rims from strain and sleepless hours. A pang of guilt tugged at you, sharp and unwelcome, that they had carried the weight of the night alongside you.
Seonghwa’s voice cut through the murmur of the chamber, low but firm. “It seems we cannot cancel the summit in Charadyn, and after, in Kian. San and Wooyoung will go ahead and secure the skies, set a path, see that nothing waits for us unguarded.”
San exhaled through his nose, the faintest crease at his brow betraying what the evenness of his tone did not. “We may cancel the ball,” he continued, “but the summit must remain. If we falter now, the people will sense weakness—and that, we cannot allow.”
Wooyoung, who had been leaning back in his chair with restless wings shifting behind him, let out a dry laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Even with the ball canceled, they’ll notice something’s off,” he muttered, voice sharp with frustration. “The court feeds on whispers. One night of silence is enough to stir suspicion.”
The words settled into the room like heavy stone.
And then the door opened.
Yunho stepped in, tall frame filling the threshold, shoulders taut as though he bore the weight of the entire corridor with him. He paused only a moment, his eyes finding yours where you sat half-hidden in the shadows of Jongho’s chamber.
“You’re awake,” he said softly.
The sound of your shifting must have roused Jongho as well. He lifted his head from where he had been dozing lightly beside you, eyes meeting yours instantly, sharp with worry before softening into relief.
You nodded faintly, still dizzy from the weight of the prior night, your body aching not from wounds but from memory. The echo of it clung to you, heavy in your bones, pressing against your chest until each breath felt too shallow.
Yunho crossed the space between you with quiet steps, lowering himself to sit at your side. His presence was large, solid, filling the air around you in a way that was both overwhelming and grounding. He reached out, his hands warm against your chilled skin as he cupped your face, brushing a stray strand of hair back with careful fingers.
“You frightened us,” he whispered, as though the words themselves might break you if spoken too loud. His throat bobbed, his jaw tight, and for a heartbeat he looked like he might say more but couldn’t. His gaze flicked briefly toward Jongho—who hadn’t moved from his place beside you—before returning to you, steady and unflinching. “You frightened me.”
Jongho’s chamber had grown too heavy with silence, every breath shared between you and the kings.
It was Hongjoong who finally moved, rising from where he’d been standing near the hearth. His sharp gaze swept the room before settling on the others. “Enough,” he said, quiet but decisive. “The day waits for no one. Go—see to yourselves, to the guards, to the councilors still waiting for word. We’ll meet again at noon.”
Seonghwa inclined his head in acknowledgment, already gathering San and Wooyoung with a single glance. Wooyoung muttered under his breath as he pushed to his feet, wings restless, but he didn’t argue. Mingi lingered a moment longer, eyes flicking from you to Jongho before finally obeying, stepping out into the corridor with Yunho at his side.
Yeosang was the last to leave. He said nothing, but his gaze lingered on you, steady and unreadable, before he slipped from the chamber without sound.
The room felt different once the others had gone, it felt emptier, quieter, as though even the shadows had pulled back to give you space. Still, the air was heavy. You sat there on Jongho’s bed, wrapped in his tunic that smelled of cedar and smoke, and for the first time you realized how much your body trembled from exhaustion, from memory, from the unshakable echo of fear.
Hongjoong did not crowd you. He remained just a step away, his voice low and measured, giving you time to breathe between each word. “The summit in Charadyn cannot be canceled. Nor the one in Kian that follows. If we falter, we risk more than whispers, we risk revolt. That is why San and Wooyoung will fly ahead to clear the skies and set a path. The rest of us will travel on land.”
The words settled heavily, but not cruelly. He was not burdening you so much as offering you the truth, stripped bare, trusting you with it.
Your throat tightened. You wanted to argue, to beg for one moment of reprieve after the terror of last night—but even through the fear, you knew he was right. The world would not stop turning because your heart had cracked. And yet, some fragile part of you longed to believe it could.
Hongjoong’s gaze softened when he saw the conflict in your face. “You will not be left unguarded,” he said quietly. “Not for a single step.”
The reassurance sank deeper than you expected. You hadn’t realized until then just how much you had been bracing yourself—bracing for abandonment, for dismissal, for the kind of coldness you had always feared from power. Instead, here he was: a king, speaking as though your fear mattered more than appearances, more than the summit itself.
He stepped closer, the firelight catching faintly in his dark hair, and lowered his voice until it was for you alone. “You carry too much,” he murmured. “And I will not stand by and watch it break you. I am yours now. Remember that. Mine is the burden to carry, not yours. If I must bend the world to its knees so you may walk without fear, then that is what I will do.”
The promise in his voice was not loud, not grandiose, but it pressed into you with such force you felt your breath catch. Your throat worked, unable to form the words you wanted, so instead you nodded—small, trembling, but true.
Hongjoong’s hand lifted, hesitating for a fraction of a heartbeat before it settled lightly against the crown of your head. He bent, brushing his lips to your hair in the faintest of touches—an oath pressed into your skin.
It wasn’t a kiss of passion, not even of possession, but of reverence. Like he was sealing a promise that steadied you even as it made you ache.
You nodded faintly, unable to find words, but you knew he understood. The faint tremor in your shoulders eased beneath his touch, if only a little.
“A lady’s maid will be with you soon,” he said quietly, though the edge of command still lingered in his tone. “San and Wooyoung will take flight at noon, and the rest of us leave tomorrow at dawn. If you wish to stay with one of us tonight…” His gaze flickered, steady and intent. “Do not hesitate to tell me. You will not spend another night alone if you do not wish it.”
Noon had come too quickly for your liking. The hours bled together until it felt as though you had barely breathed before the moment was upon you. Part of you wished you had spoken to San and Wooyoung more about their days—their laughter, their stories, anything to carry with you when they were gone.
As you approached the palace gates, all eight kings stood waiting, a sight as imposing as it was grounding. Yet it was San and Wooyoung who drew your eye.
Gone were their gilded coats and polished silks. Instead, they wore leather and canvas, their attire cut for flight and travel rather than court. San’s dark tunic was cinched at the waist by a broad belt, his shoulders draped in a fitted cloak that looked worn but strong, the kind carried by men who lived by the road as much as by the sky. A pair of simple bracers guarded his wrists, and his boots were laced high, scuffed from long wear. He looked less like a king and more like the commander he was—the kind you could imagine leading warriors into the wilds, steady and unyielding.
Wooyoung, by contrast, seemed almost too bright for his gear. His leather jerkin was lighter, dyed a deep russet that brought out the warmth of his skin. A simple scarf was knotted loosely around his throat, and though his boots were as battered as San’s, he carried himself like it was all a game. His wings twitched restlessly behind him, catching the sunlight, and a teasing grin already tugged at his lips the moment he saw you.
“Careful, my lady,” Wooyoung drawled, bowing low in mock grandeur, though his eyes sparkled. “If you stare at us too long, the others will get jealous.”
San sighed softly, though the faintest smile ghosted across his mouth. “Don’t start.”
Wooyoung only leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough for you to hear. “Admit it! You’ll miss me most.”
You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped past your lips, though it wavered at the edges. Wooyoung’s grin widened triumphantly as though he had won some silent battle.
“Don’t mind him,” he said with a wink, gesturing lazily toward San. “He pretends he’s above teasing, but I’ve seen him smile more in your presence than in the last three councils combined.”
“Wooyoung,” San warned, his tone sharp, though his hand brushed your arm as he passed—steady, grounding, his warmth lingering even after he moved away.
You turned to him, meeting his gaze, and though his expression remained composed, his eyes told a different story. Softer, quieter. A promise unspoken.
“Travel safe,” you whispered.
San inclined his head, and when he leaned closer, his voice was low, meant only for you. “We’ll fly ahead, clear the way. When you follow, there will be nothing waiting for you but open skies.”
The words settled like a shield around your chest.
Then, without warning, Wooyoung leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. His lips lingered just long enough to make your cheeks warm before he drew back, mischief sparking in his eyes.
“Don’t forget about me, princess,” he teased, though his grin faltered for the barest instant, revealing the weight beneath the words.
Before you could reply, San did the same—his touch gentler, reverent, his lips brushing your forehead as though sealing his vow into your skin. “Until we see you again,” he murmured, and then he pulled back, wings unfurling in one sweeping motion that caught the light.
Side by side, they stepped toward the gates, their wings stretching wide, the sun flashing across feathers of bronze and gold before the air stirred and carried them upward.
You stood rooted to the stone, watching until they disappeared into the horizon, the ache of parting pulling tight in your chest.
You were lucky to get a breather by yourself. The corridors were heavier today, the air thick with the quiet march of guards posted at every turn. Their numbers had doubled, maybe tripled, since last night—a reminder of the danger pressed against your skin like cold steel.
You found your feet carrying you along a familiar path, until you stopped at a door you’d passed many times before. A hesitant knock.
It opened with a soft creak.
Yeosang was inside, his back to you at first, carefully tucking a few items into a worn leather satchel laid across the table. The lamplight caught the curve of his cheek, the calm lines of his face. He didn’t startle when you entered—just turned slowly, his dark eyes meeting yours with quiet acknowledgment, as though he’d been expecting you.
He was dressed in his usual palette of silver and deep green, though the fabrics were no longer the delicate silks you had grown used to seeing. A leather jerkin had replaced them, fitted neatly over his frame, lending him a more grounded air. It suited him in a way you hadn’t anticipated—less ethereal, more tangible, more charming.
You dropped your gaze quickly, afraid that if you lingered too long it would reveal too much—how eager you had been to watch him, how strangely safe his steadiness made you feel. Your hands worried at the hem of the loose top you wore, the fabric twisting under your fingers, as if it could excuse the heat creeping into your cheeks.
“You shouldn’t be walking alone,” he said simply.
“I know,” you admitted, voice softer than you intended. “I just… needed a minute.”
Yeosang studied you a moment longer. Then, without another word, he turned back to his bag, slipping a leather-bound journal inside with the same deliberate care he gave to everything.
Silence pressed between you, thick and uneasy. You shifted on your feet, suddenly too aware of the quiet scrape of his movements, of the way your own breathing sounded too loud in your ears. You weren’t sure if you should leave, or if he even wanted you there at all—but leaving felt harder than staying. The stillness of him, the steadiness, was both a comfort and a weight. And so you lingered, awkward in your own skin, desperate to fill the space with something, anything, that wasn’t just the sound of your restless thoughts.
“I read the last chapter of the book the morning of the ball,” you said, almost absently, as though speaking it aloud might tether you back to something normal.
Yeosang didn’t look at you. He continued brushing the dust from the cover of a journal before slipping it into his satchel. Only then did he speak, voice quiet, pared down to its barest edge.
“And your thoughts?”
You hesitated, your fingers stilling against the hem of your top. The memory of that last chapter was still sharp in your chest, sharper now that you stood here with him—the one who had given you the words when you couldn’t read them yourself.
“It was… different from what I thought it would be,” you admitted, your voice carrying more honesty than you’d meant to reveal. “I thought it would end in despair. That it would be about what they lost. What they could have been. But it wasn’t.”
You fiddled against your thumb, waiting for his response—only to be met with silence. The pause stretched long enough that you felt compelled to fill it.
“It was about how they kept going,” you went on, words tumbling faster than you meant them to. “About how love didn’t save them from pain, but it… gave them something worth staying for.”
His gaze lifted to you, unreadable. He regarded you for a long, measured breath before speaking, his voice low, deliberate.
Yeosang’s eyes shifted briefly to the satchel on the table, then back to you. “In the original tongue, Silent Wings was not meant as a tale of hope.”
Your brows knit slightly.
“Its verses were used to remind warriors of the dangers of attachment. Love, it said, is the death of a soldier. A man with something to lose will hesitate. A man with someone waiting for him will fear dying—and fear makes him weak.”
The words struck hard, colder than you expected, heavy with the weight of something ancient and merciless.
You let out a breath, a faint, disbelieving laugh breaking through the heaviness. “Then they must have been blind.”
His head tilted, just enough to show he was listening.
“Because the way I read it,” you continued softly, fingers curling tight around the hem of your top, “love wasn’t their end—it was the reason they endured. The knight didn’t stop fighting because he was afraid. He kept going because he wanted to come back. Isn’t that stronger than fear?”
For a moment, there was only silence between you. Yeosang’s expression didn’t shift much, his gaze locked onto yours. The faint candlelight caught in the dark of his eyes, making them glimmer, unreadable yet steady.
Finally, his voice came, low and even. “You should read it again.”
A scoff slipped out before you could stop it, disbelief bubbling past your lips.
“That’s all you have to say?”
Yeosang didn’t answer. His attention dropped back to his satchel, fingers brushing over the worn leather.
The silence stretched, heavy and awkward, and you felt the edge of frustration bite at you. All of that—everything you’d just said—and all he could give you was read it again?
Before you could press him further, a sharp knock rattled against the door.
“My lady?” a voice called through the wood—firm, formal. One of the palace guards. “King Seonghwa request your presence in the dining hall.”
You blinked, pulled from the weight of the moment, heart still tight in your chest.
Yeosang’s eyes flickered toward the door, then back to you. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, only held your gaze long enough for you to feel it—the steadiness of him, frustrating as it was grounding.
You looked down, unable to hold his gaze any longer. The floor blurred at the edges as your eyes stung, heat gathering against your lashes. You bit it back, swallowing hard, unwilling to let him see just how much his silence had cut.
Still, you risked one last glance—eyes lifting to him, searching for anything he wasn’t giving you. Nothing. Just that same steady, unreadable calm.
It made something inside you twist.
So you turned. One step, then another, until you were at the door. Your hand lingered on the frame for the barest moment—long enough to feel the ache of words unsaid press against your ribs, before you pushed it open and slipped into the corridor.
The quiet closed behind you like a final answer.
The door shut, and silence pressed in again.
Yeosang let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The stillness should have comforted him, it always had, but now it grated, heavy with the echo of your voice, your laugh, your presence, your pain.
He had felt it last night when the scream tore through the halls — and the sharp, irrational terror that nearly unmanned him. He defended himself as a rational man, but logic seems to abandoned him the moment he thought he might lose you.
That was the problem.
Attachment made men reckless. Weak. The old scripture of Silent Wings had warned him of this very thing. And yet, standing there, he knew he was slipping. Falling. He should have stayed silent, should have pushed you further from him.
But Gods, your eyes sought his calm and he falters.
He clenched his jaw, closing the satchel with more force than needed.
Distance is safe.
The sway of the horse slowed your thoughts, your body heavy with exhaustion. You let your head tilt against Seonghwa’s shoulder, comforted by the steady rise and fall of his breath.
“You getting tired, dove?” he murmured.
“Yeah,” you admitted softly.
“We’re almost there. We’ll camp out for the night, and you can rest,” he promised, voice low, the kind of tone that carried weight without sharpness.
You hummed in response, your gaze drifting to where Hongjoong’s figure led at the front. The rhythm of the hooves filled the silence, yet something in you wanted to keep it from settling too thick.
As the sun dipped low, painting the sky in bruised gold and violet, your body leaned into Seonghwa’s steady frame. The world blurred around you, but his presence was sharp—anchoring.
You could only replay the fragments of talk you’d shared with him through the long stretch of the day.
As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in molten shades of amber and rose, your thoughts slipped back to the day behind you.
Seonghwa had spoken softly, his words knitted close to your ears, and asked you about your childhood. For the first time, it felt as though you weren’t simply speaking to a king, but to a man who understood pieces of the world the way you did.
He gave you the kind of comfort that crept in quietly, like a fire that warmed the chill without you noticing until you leaned closer.
You tilted your head slightly, catching the way the last light touched the line of his profile. Strong, calm, patient. He didn’t fill the silence with needless words, and somehow that made the space between you safer, easier to breathe in.
Dawn broke quietly, the first pale light spilling over Caius’s high walls like a secret. The palace, usually alive with morning clamor, seemed hushed—its courtyards stripped of their usual bustle, its gates open not in ceremony but in silence.
Only a handful of guards waited, their dark leathers blending into shadow, halberds catching the faintest glint of the sun. A pair of carriages stood nearby, plain and unmarked, their wheels creaking softly as supplies were loaded inside. The horses stamped restlessly, the sound sharp against the stillness, but no crowd gathered, no courtiers lingered to watch.
You stood among them, cloaked in a mantle heavy enough to ward off the morning chill, yet still you felt the weight of eyes on you—curious, watchful, protective. Since the night before, Jongho had parted from you only briefly, his presence a steady wall between you and the rest of the world.
Hongjoong oversaw the final preparations, his voice clipped as he spoke with the captains, checking and rechecking the order of the march. Seonghwa stood at his shoulder, calm and composed, though his crown had been traded for a travel circlet, his white-and-bronze attire had been traded for plain, travel-worn leathers. The cut was simple, the colors muted—clothes that could pass as a soldier’s or a caravan rider’s.
Yeosang remained slightly apart, near the wagons, his gaze on the tree-line as though searching for what the eye could not see. Yunho and Mingi stayed closer, their large frames a reassurance for the of thoughts going through your head.
The stir of voices dulled as the last crate was secured, and for a moment the courtyard seemed to still. Seonghwa stepped away from Hongjoong’s side, his calm presence cutting through the morning hush as he crossed toward you
“We’re ready,” he said quietly, his tone carrying the weight of finality. His eyes lingered on you, steady but soft, as though measuring your unease against the road ahead.
You drew your cloak tighter, bracing against the chill.
“Where is my horse?” you asked, forcing steadiness into your voice.
Seonghwa tilted his head, a laugh escaping him, small but genuine. “You’ll be riding with me.”
Warmth crept up your cheeks before you could stop it. Of all the kings, he was the one you’d spent the least time with in Caius—always present, but distant, composed, busy with council matters. And yet here, with the promise of his body pressed close to yours on a single mount, your heart fluttered.
“You?” you managed.
“Unless you’d prefer to walk?” he teased, his voice threaded with a rare lightness.
Before you could think of a reply, his hand was already extended. You placed your fingers in his, and he closed around them firmly, guiding you toward the waiting horse. Its breath misted in the chill air, its dark coat shining faintly in the pale dawn.
Seonghwa mounted first with practiced ease, then turned in the saddle to face you. “Give me your hand,” he said, his tone steady, leaving little room for argument.
You hesitated only a heartbeat before placing your hand in his again. He leaned down, his other arm slipping around your waist as he lifted you effortlessly. The strength of his pull caught your breath, and suddenly you were pressed against the solid warmth of him, your cloak brushing against his leathers as he steadied you on the saddle.
For a moment, the world stilled. His arm lingered at your waist just long enough to send a flutter spiraling through you before he released you, adjusting the reins. His presence at your back was firm, his shoulder brushing yours as the horse shifted beneath you.
Seonghwa leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Hold steady.”
The journey began slow—it was going to be a long day. Mingi and Yunho rode to Seonghwa’s side, while Hongjoong led at the front, Jongho and Yeosang keeping the rear.
Your eyes wandered to the scenery, the stretch of sky and earth rolling endlessly before you. A thought tugged quietly at your chest: you’d miss this view when distance finally pulled you away from Caius.
“You do know you can lean back against me, right?” Seonghwa’s voice broke through your reverie, low and teasing. “You’re so tense.”
“Oh… yeah.”
You let yourself ease into him, your back settling against his chest. Comfort wrapped around you in unexpected warmth, and you heard a soft sigh escape him. Even through the layers of fabric between you, the faint brush of his presence tingled against your skin—a quiet reminder of the closeness you shared.
“Have you always lived in Caius?” Seonghwa asked after a moment.
“Uh, yeah. I used to live in the castle. My mother was one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting, and my father a soldier. We stayed inside the palace grounds, though I don’t remember much of it—I was just a baby.”
“You were born in the castle,” he murmured.
“Yeah,” you said, almost shyly.
“I’ve never seen you around?”
“I’m sure we were still children,” you said with a small laugh.
“But you moved?”
“Yes. My parents thought it would be better for me to grow up in the countryside, where my father was raised before he was admitted into service at the castle.”
“Isn’t your father a noble? He’s the brother of Lord Foren Valeir?”
“He is, yes. But he was only the second-born, so he was sent into training in the countryside — service to the king.”
“Right. My father.” Seonghwa’s voice dimmed, his gaze turning distant, almost heavy with disappointment. “He was a tyrant.”
You looked up at him, unsure what to say. After a pause, you offered softly, “My father always believed in king and country. He carried that pride like a banner. I grew up knowing nothing else but to acknowledge my nation.”
Seonghwa’s eyes lowered back to you, his expression softening into a faint smile. “What is country life like?”
“You would love it, Seonghwa.”
And so you told him. Hours passed as you spoke of the market just beyond the city, of your small studies, of the hospital by the sea where you had once wandered with your mother. He listened intently, never rushing you, his questions thoughtful and steady. For once, conversation felt effortless—like a thread weaving the two of you quietly closer together.
“We’ll be stopping here for the day. Let’s get stationed,” Hongjoong’s voice cut through your thoughts like the slice of a blade.
The horses slowed, hooves sinking into the softer earth as the group turned off the road. There were only nine of you—six royals, and two guards shadowing close—small enough to move quietly, yet still a presence.
The men dismounted first, hands steady on reins, words exchanged in low tones as they moved with practiced ease. Seonghwa slid down before offering you his hand, guiding you carefully to the ground. The stiffness in your legs made you falter for a step, but his touch lingered just long enough to steady you.
By the time the last light bled from the sky, a small fire had been coaxed to life. Tents were staked in neat lines, packs laid down, the scent of smoke curling into the air. Mingi carried kindling with a grin despite the weight, Yunho laughed under his breath at something Mingi muttered, and Jongho kept close by Hongjoong, helping unpack supplies with diligence.
The meal was simple—bread warmed by the fire, dried meat softened in broth, and a flask of spiced wine passed around in careful measure. It wasn’t the grandeur of the palace nor the bustling noise of Caius markets, but there was a comfort in it. Just firelight, the smell of smoke, and the quiet hum of voices breaking the silence of the wild.
You sat close enough to Seonghwa to feel the brush of his cloak when the wind shifted, and for a fleeting moment, you thought of how different this was from everything you’d known — intimate in its own way, fragile and strangely safe.
As the night bled out, shadows stretching long beyond the fire’s glow, you noticed Yunho rise from his place and drift a little away from the others. Something in the ease of his movements, the familiar curve of his shoulders, pulled you after him.
You found him standing beneath the open sky, the stars spilling bright across the dark. He glanced at you as you approached, his mouth already tugging into a small, knowing smile.
“Hey,” he said softly.
“Hi…” you answered, eyes dropping to the ground.
“Come sit with me, my love.”
You eased down beside him, close enough to feel his warmth. Above you, the sky stretched wide and endless, stars scattered like shards of glass, clouds drifting into shapes that begged to be named.
“Tell me what you’re thinking, love.” The word was endearing, wrapping around you like the warmest cloak in the coldest winter. He tilted his head until he was level with you, his gaze open, unguarded, bleeding with love.
“I just wanted to make sure we were okay,” you whispered, unable to meet his eyes.
“Hey… look at me.”
His hands came up to cradle your cheeks, gentle yet firm enough that you couldn’t turn away. His eyes locked onto yours, steady and unwavering, boring straight into the fragile parts of you.
“I apolagise,” he said quietly. “For lying. For not telling you everything when I should have. I thought I was protecting you. But it doesn’t matter. You deserved the truth from the start, and I hate that I made you doubt us.”
His thumb brushed lightly across your skin, a small, soothing gesture. “But do you really think I’d let anything come between us?”
“Courting you has been the greatest honor of my life. Every moment, every glance, every word—I’ve already given them to you. And I’d give them a thousand times over, because I’m so far gone, so deeply in love with you, I don’t remember what it was to live before you.”
Your heart stuttered. God, he really knew how to say the right things.
“I’m sorry too,” you whispered.
His lips curved into the faintest smile, tender but sure. “I know, love. I know.”
He drew you in then, one hand cradling your head as he guided you against his chest. You leaned into him, your back pressed to his warmth as you both sat in the grass, the night air cool around you, the stars scattered like fire above.
“We’re more than okay,” he murmured against your hair. “You’re all I want. You’ve always been all I want.”
You stayed in his arms for a while, the world quiet except for the crackle of the fire. The heaviness of confessions gave way to laughter, the two of you trading small, lighthearted jokes—your thoughts drifting toward Yunho and the mischief of his younger days.
Mingi had been the one to tell you first—laughing as he recalled how Yunho, still just a boy, had swapped the royal food orders during the closing dinner between Reed and Aeros.
Now, with Yunho seated near you, you couldn’t resist asking it from his own lips.
“Did you truly swap the royal food orders at the banquet?” you asked, your voice low but teasing, curiosity laced through your tone.
Yunho’s mouth curved into a grin, the kind that reached his eyes and caught the firelight.
“I did,” he admitted. “Though not exactly on purpose. I only meant to test how careless the stewards were with the parchments. I thought they’d catch it before the feast began.”
You arched a brow. “And instead, the grand banquet ended with pastries and sorbets in place of the main course?”
Color touched his ears, his composure faltering into sheepishness. “That part—” his gaze shot sideways at Mingi’s shadow from across the field, “—wasn’t planned. I didn’t know what was for desserts. But you should’ve seen their faces—it was almost worth the scolding.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “So you turned the most important dinner of the year into a dessert parade?”
“In my defense,” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck, “everyone enjoyed it. Even his father went back for seconds of the soufflés.”
“I didn’t know you were such a prankster. I always thought you were brooding.”
His grin widened. “Stay close enough, and you’ll learn I’m not.”
Laughter spilled between you, bright and unrestrained, echoing in the quiet field. For a moment, it felt as though the fire, the others, the long road ahead—all of it faded into nothing but the sound of his voice and the warmth of his presence beside you.
As the laughter died down, you found yourself still looking at him, breath caught on the curve of his grin. His eyes met yours, steady and searching, the air between you tightening into something unspoken.
Your smile faltered, softening. His did too.
Then his gaze flickered, quick but unmistakable, down to your lips. Your chest fluttered, and before you could stop yourself, your eyes traced the shape of his mouth in return.
Neither of you moved at first. The world seemed to still, the fire crackling in the distance, the night air cool against your skin.
Then Yunho leaned in, slow enough to let you pull away, close enough that his breath brushed yours. When you didn’t move, when your heart betrayed you with the way it raced, his lips found yours.
Warmth lingering as though the kiss itself was a question he had been waiting his whole life to ask.
And you answered, without hesitation.
Masterlist
seventeen | YUNHO MOODBOARD | nineteen
A/n: 8k words! i was really debating if i should just divide it into 2 but then i got confused on where i should divide it. I truly enjoyed writing this and oddly i am feeling excited to start writing as a form of relief from uni (class just started today!). Hopefully, this semester will go smoothly and quickly. I truly loved the amount of connection she is making! especially with yeosang i have so much planned! he is very much a hard person to understand! but you will understand why by the end of the story!
Anyways, chap 18 here, which means i will be releasing the first spin off from the serious. which is YUNHO's story. You will be able to find the king: new world spin off masterlist here! i am also planning to release the index soon, so please stay tuned. please give me any feedbacks! thank you.
