Gilded Charms, Ashen Robes
At first, Jeno thought it was just the season.
The Palace always shifted in the weeks leading to the height of winter. Expectations, curfews, deliveries, ceremonial drills, security protocols, every code of conduct and preparation made to account for events to come. He barely had time to sleep between the new nobles and advisors arriving and the increasingly rigorous combat training and patrol sessions.
While he usually wouldn’t let his responsibilities get the better of him, Jeno felt a lot more tired than he’d ever been.
He took pride in being a prince who made the protection of his people his utmost concern and extended as much effort as he could to be present and true. Keep a good rapport with the court; never let minor things break his stride. Though he quickly realised that being present did not give way to navigating one’s own personal interests. A single person can only take so much after all.
And somewhere in the middle of it all, he’d stopped seeing Renjun. Again.
He noticed it in fragments at first. Renjun would appear at the edge of a corridor, then vanish behind a column as if he’d only been passing through; or Jeno would catch a glimpse of him through the window, head ducked, eyes trained low, deliberately not looking up. Sometimes he’d wave; sometimes Renjun would wave back.
The shift in their dynamic was strange to Jeno if he were being completely honest with himself, and one that was not exactly welcomed. More often than not, he’d stop to remind himself that he now has vital information on Renjun and it was only natural that the other break away a bit out of fear.
It never really eased his mind.
He couldn’t understand the texts in the archives, and by now he was convinced that Renjun had scattered more of the important ones in places he couldn't even think to look in. Outright asking the boy to tell him everything would only work against him. Renjun, in his eyes, had never been one to be foolish and take risks. However, something about him felt increasingly more unstable every time Jeno looked too long.
But looking was becoming trickier by the passing weeks.
It was inevitable, the way the surrounding court noticed the shift too. However, they saw things slightly differently from the way Jeno did.
No, in their eyes, this was a game of sorts. Something funny even.
“He’s got you twisted around his finger,” one of the younger knights laughed while they were out on the field one morning.
“Poor prince and his stray,” another added.
“Maybe he’ll spare His Highness a dance at the Winter Ball for once?”
That had raised a hearty laugh from the team he led.
Usually, he could tune out the chatter between patrols, but Jeno felt irritated that day. He felt uncomfortable in his attire and his skin, and he knew a headache was creeping up to him.
His command was loud and clear. It silenced the rest of his team, though he knew they would begin again soon, as they always do.
“...and don’t call him that,” he bit. His tone bled with the annoyance he felt. He saw no point in trying to mask his dissatisfaction.
Glancing to Sir Johnny, the older man made no comment but a lopsided smile dawned on his features. Taeyong to his right, kept his gaze forward and face trained blankly. He knew no aid would come from either of the men in this situation.
Jeno never laughed with the others. Not lately, since things had taken a turn. He never liked the new agenda they pushed. On top of that, he hated that word ‘stray.’
It felt demeaning. Like Renjun had no past, no home, no weight to carry, just a pretty face with little luck on his side. Every time he tried to shut it down, they just laughed harder, like there was a joke they knew he did not understand. Not like Jeno needed more things to add to that growing list of the unknown in his mind.
Jeno was almost certain Renjun knew.
Or if he didn’t, he was damn good at pretending.
The more time passed, the more the grounds had to say.
Jeno tried, gods, he tried to catch Renjun between lessons or after sparring, even the times between his usual rounds with the knights or meetings with officials. During meals, he looked for the brown-haired boy in vain. Renjun always slipped away with perfect timing. Like he knew the prince’s schedule like clockwork.
He orbited Jeno but was always out of reach.
Each failed attempt left him feeling like they were back at square one, in a box he wanted so desperately out of.
On a particularly chilly day, his father had insisted that he attend dance lessons as a refresher for the Ball. Jeno almost rolled his eyes in protest in front of him. The last time he’d been forced into dance lessons, he and Renjun had been lazily spinning each other around in fits of laughter just beyond the garden, much to his instructor's dismay.
Renjun was the more graceful of the two. He had a knack for picking up on what he saw quickly or what Jeno taught him after the classes finished and the rooms were clear. Even the staff liked watching him glide across the ballroom after rehearsals. Unfortunately, Renjun never did attend the Balls or major events of the Kingdom. If he did manage to get roped in against his will, usually by Jeno’s doing, he would excuse himself earlier than everyone else.
When Jeno approached the ballroom, everything was too bright.
Afternoon light streamed in through the high arched windows, catching on polished marble and gold trim. Banners and metal decor floated around waiting to be arranged and a few mages were in a corner testing colour schemes and dazzling snow-like effects that flittered from the high ceiling.
The all too-perfect shine of noble heirs lined up in rows bowed upon his entrance. The musicians in the corner tuned their strings softly.
At the front of them stood Lee Taemin, though here he was simply Master Taemin. A highly sought-after professional choreographer and royal dance instructor to the Palace. He was dressed in black with his hair pulled back. A few strands of black and grey still fell to frame his face almost perfectly. He donned a silver pendant of the Kingdom’s crest that marked his authority within the Palace.
“Again. From the second turn.”
A collective sigh rippled through the room. He turned to Jeno and gestured for him to fall into place in lieu of a greeting.
Crown Prince Jeno of the Central Kingdom stood perfectly straight, jaw set, and almost rigid among the other nobles. His coat was deep midnight blue with gold threading at the cuffs. He looked composed and immaculate, exactly as a future king should.
A young woman stepped in front of him, giving a deep curtsey. Jeno recognised her as the heiress to the largest silk company in the lands. Her family owned and managed a large export business out of the main city district. The name Kim Yerim finally popped into his mind as he stepped forward to lead their dance.
“Left foot,” Taemin said, gliding past him like a shadow. “Your Highness, your shoulders.”
Jeno adjusted immediately and the waltz resumed. Three counts, a turn, several steps and a bow later had him wishing he were anywhere else.
He did not even hate dancing; he just wasn't in the best headspace.
The upcoming Winter Ball would host ambassadors and high officials from the Central, North and Southern territories. Alliances would be hinted at through dance partners and seating arrangements and with that in mind, any movement Jeno made would be read as a strategy or a judgment.
Which was precisely why he held some animosity towards this whole Ball.
“My Duke, you are not wrestling your partner,” Taemin snapped at a red-faced noble to Jeno’s right. “This is diplomacy, not war.”
A few soft laughs spilled out only to die down quickly when Taemin’s eyes drifted back to Jeno.
“Your Highness,” Taemin said, tone turning deceptively mild, “I had expected to see Injun with you today.”
To Jeno who had only been half paying attention, the name landed like a dropped goblet.
A few heads turned instantly.
Jeno’s step faltered just slightly.
Taemin noticed immediately but made no comment about it.
“The boy you brought from the outer provinces,” Taemin continued lightly. “You used to insist he observe lessons. I assumed he would be present or require instruction as well.”
A snicker rose from somewhere behind Jeno. Another followed, quickly stifled.
“Perhaps,” one noble girl murmured, not quite quietly enough, “His Highness prefers private instruction.”
The hand he wasn’t using to lead Yerim curled at his side.
Truthfully, Renjun had attended a few lessons in the past. He’d stand silently near the windows with his arms folded looking on at Taemin’s lessons. He had watched everything with those sharp, focused eyes. Claimed it was for “cultural understanding,” once as a means to cover the true reason why he was there in the first place, aside from Jeno simply wanting company and complaining long enough to Renjun that he gave in to the prince’s wishes.
At the end of one of those rehearsal lessons, after Taemin dismissed the room, he remembered how the strict instructor pulled Renjun to the middle. It had happened a few years prior and to this day Jeno still held the instructor at arm's length for it.
“If you’re going to stand and watch, the least you can do is show me what you’ve learned as a fly on the wall,” the instructor said coolly. There was no music, just the light chatter of staff and birds from the garden to be heard. Taemin eyed Renjun almost like it was a challenge.
He was daring Renjun to move.
An equally challenging expression fitted his face, with narrowed eyes and a relaxed posture, as he turned to Master Taemin fully.
Jeno had been prepping himself to tell off Taemin for trying to embarrass his friend but the way Renjun began to glide stopped his words from tumbling out. That day, he learned just how gracefully the other can be.
Renjun was light-footed and elegant. The fairy-like way he moved across the room to a routine Jeno had never seen before was everything.
Taemin stared on with a face Jeno couldn’t decipher for the life of him. He watched like a man who was being faced with his biggest regrets staring back at him. He watched for maybe a minute more, then moved forward quickly to Renjun. Taemin had joined his improv dance, matching pace beside the younger; jumping, spinning and landing in tandem to a melody only they seemed to know.
Renjun did not falter once. In fact, he seemed to ignore Taemin entirely while still complimenting his footwork.
Jeno had been enamoured. Even the few passing servants paused their work to watch them.
He wondered how Taemin knew what move Renjun would pull next. He wondered how Renjun even came up with something like this. It reminded him of the street dancers and performers at the market square. But even then, the way Renjun and Taemin moved carried a different type of air than what he was used to seeing.
There was a beauty wrapped in how they floated around eachother. Nothing like the powerful kicks and fast turns of his people. No, this was something much softer.
At the end, they mirrored each other in a peculiar bow that wasn't like one to end a dance he knew.
Jeno stayed rooted in his spot. Taemin walked the short distance to Renjun a little out of breath. He asked him where he had learned to dance like that and who taught him. Taemin’s voice trembled as he spoke. A fraction of desperation neither boy knew what to make of.
The questions made Renjun retreat a fraction. Taemin asked again reaching for Renjun, causing him to step back hastily. The boy only ended up giving a sheepish smile, saying he learned it from a street performer when he was little.
Jeno remembered the puzzled look Taemin shot Renjun. Though he didn’t remember Taemin questioning Renjun further after that. His gaze did, however, linger after Renjun’s retreating figure when he excused himself not even a second later.
Renjun never danced in front of others again after that.
Maybe Jeno could’ve asked more questions back then. He should have.
“Focus,” Taemin said sharply, pulling Jeno out of his thoughts. Cutting through the murmurs, he sounded again, “Continue, from the top everyone.”
Jeno shook his head slightly to rid himself of the memory.
The music resumed, but the whispers around him did not stop.
“They say the Prince personally requested his chambers be moved a few years ago.”
“No, he’s still in the East Wing, right?”
“The stray yes, but not the Prince anymore.”
“I heard he refused a duchess’s daughter because he—”
Jeno's mind had zeroed in on their comments so much so that a short inhale caused him to halt. He realised too late that he had misstepped and accidentally pressed on Yerim’s foot.
The music halted at their pause.
A light silence covered the room.
Taemin’s brow lifted. “That,” he said frankly, “was not the music’s fault.”
Heat climbed to Jeno’s neck, “I apologise for that, Lady Yerim,” he whispered, bowing to his partner politely. Yerim didn’t seem daunted by his slip-up. She gestured for him to quickly raise his head, giving him a warm smile.
“Were you searching for him here, Your Highness?” she spoke, leaning in. A tinge of mischief and teasing in her voice, though not in a way that seemed unkind.
He didn’t have to guess who she meant. The whole court might have had an inkling at this point.
The sound of someone clearing their throat forced the two away from each other. Taemin settled them both with an unimpressed quirk of his brow.
From the back of the room, someone muttered, “Always distracted.”
“Perhaps worrying where his shadow’s gone.”
A low ripple of laughter followed.
“Don’t mind them, Your Highness. They will never understand what you two have,” Yerim whispered, trying to guide him to follow their routine instead.
But Jeno couldn’t take it anymore. He turned abruptly causing the room to go still beneath the weight of his icy gaze.
“Is there something amusing?” he asked coldly. “Tell what it is you have to say.”
“In fact,” his volume lifting as he approached the small circle, “speak it loudly enough for the whole room to hear.”
No one answered. All eyes avoided his.
Taemin watched all of this with careful interest. Not a soul moved.
He let the tension settle for a moment, then clapped. “Break. Five minutes.”
The nobles scattered quickly from the prince, forming clusters by the windows and near the doors, pretending not to continue their comments.
Jeno remained where he was as Taemin approached slowly.
“You’re tighter than usual,” Taemin said quietly. “Are you alright, Your Highness?”
“Peachy,” Jeno gritted out.
Taemin studied him. How tense his shoulders were, how he locked his jaw. “Where is Injun? I missed his hovering today”
Something in Jeno’s composure cracked.
“I have not seen him in several days,” Jeno admitted, voice low enough that only Taemin could hear. “He shows up here and there but never long enough to talk to.”
Taemin hummed. “And he is fine by himself then? I heard there has been a faulty ward within the grounds.”
Taemin kept his tone low, “The guards outside my room are not very soft spoken, My Prince.”
Jeno shut his eyes, breathing in slowly. “If anyone has redirected him without my knowledge or makes baseless accusations about–”
Taemin held up a hand. “Careful, Your Highness. Accusations are arrows. Once loosed—”
“I do not loose arrows without aim,” Jeno countered evenly.
Across the room, a pair of nobles were very obviously watching them.
Taemin followed Jeno’s line of sight, then leaned closer.
“The Palace breathes rumours,” he murmured. “You bring an unknown boy into the court and give him proximity to the throne for years. What did you expect? He’s a blaring anomaly here. Many will not be so used to him.”
Jeno didn’t answer. It wasn’t always like this. No one cared about Renjun being here or not before. How could everything turn toward him so quickly? Jeno knew he must have missed so many indicators if this was where things led. But what was he even supposed to do now?
Taemin straightened. “If you are worried, look for him yourself.”
“I have,” Jeno said quietly.
That was the part that unsettled him most.
Injun had never avoided him before the recent months. Even when angry or distant, he always came back.
Even more so, why was Taemin even looking for Renjun?
“Why are you asking for Injun, Master Taemin?”
The man blinked at him, processing the sudden question. Jeno felt a sneaking suspicion that there was more to this than the dance instructor was letting on.
Taemin sighed under the prince’s watch. “I happened to hear he no longer dances. I wanted to know if it was true, that’s all.”
Jeno didn’t buy it. “You are part of the reason he doesn’t anymore,” he said flatly.
That made Taemin’s eyebrows shoot up in shock. “No, that’s not right, Your Highness. He’s excellent, you saw him that day. It’s just he dances like–”
“I also saw how you pushed him to do it in the first place when he was perfectly fine with watching. Not to mention the way you questioned him after,” he spoke, pointing a finger at the other, accusingly, before catching himself in his actions.
Jeno’s eyes widened at his sudden defense for the other.
“I’m sorry…I…I have a lot on my mind right now. I should not have lashed out.”
Taemin nodded at the apology. His mouth opened like he had more to say but closed again, shaking his head.
“Are you sure that’s all you wanted to know, Master Taemin?” Jeno asked facing the man. “Please do not mess with him.”
Jeno rolled his shoulders back, trying to shake his woes away. He threw an eye around the room. The other nobles had relaxed back into their usual discussions in hushed voices with their bodies turned away from him.
The prince rubbed a hand down his face. Perhaps he needed a proper rest after all this.
“Your Highness?” Taemin called, drawing his attention back. He leaned closer, dropping his voice so lowly that Jeno struggled to hear. “Injun isn’t from these lands, is he?”
Jeno drew back slowly. He levelled his eyes with the man before him.
He schooled a poker face, refusing to let even an inkling of emotion bleed through.
Taemin returned it with a melancholic look.
Before Jeno could even muster up a follow-up question, the musicians began tuning again. Their break was over; the tension enveloping the two was beginning to drown out. Without missing another beat, Taemin morphed back into instructor mode and moved past Jeno to the centre of the ballroom.
His voice lifted to address the room. “Positions.”
As the nobles returned, whispers trailed behind them like sickly sweet perfume.
“Maybe the Prince grew bored.”
“Or maybe the stray realised his place.”
Jeno stepped back into formation, mind clouded. Yerim shot him a worried glance as they repositioned themselves. Jeno ignored it. His blank slate persona taking front place. A horrid trait he learned as a prince.
The music swelled and his movements were flawless now. He was precise, controlled, and untouchable.
But his mind was not in the room.
It was in the empty chair at dinner, quick eyes and faster limbs running down the garden paths and in the corridors connecting to the respective chambers. And now it was replaying Master Taemin’s words and the last time he’d seen Renjun dance in these halls.
Three counts, a simple turn, then a bow.
Taemin’s voice cut through the final note. “Better.”
Jeno straightened, eyes fixed ahead. If the Palace thought Injun was a point of gossip, if the court saw him as something to be discussed, if outsiders began picking things apart in their own minds, then Jeno would have other matters on his hands to quell.
If someone had decided to move Renjun like a pawn on a chessboard without telling the Crown Prince…
The upcoming Ball wouldn’t be the only grand spectacle this winter.
