thirteenth
his father was a king and the son of kings. he did not care much for a child who would not be his heir, and his mother— they say brides do not smile on their wedding day, only the foolish ones. he was plucked from her arms and replaced with a pillow by a midwife the day of his birth. she did not notice. only hugged it closer.
almost as stupid as him.
his stupidity stemmed from hope. the kind that took root in your heart, manifested itself as a child’s wide-eyed curiosity. he wanted to be just like them— his siblings adorned in jewels and furs. the way they carried themselves like fluid gold, graceful and poised and respected. it was never to be.
the youngest of the family, born into an ivory palace soaked in crimson. the bloodbath had already begun long before he was born, screaming, into the world. he was sure, for awhile, that he would leave the same way. another son, another rival to the throne. the weight of the crown though hefty, would never outweigh the greed of its bearer. he wanted to be like them— his brothers— but they looked to him with nothing but scorn and fear. they never spoke kindly, and he was alone.
quickly, he grew to be a disappointment; lean, lanky. his limbs too long for his body. he was not graceful. he was not poised. he was not respected. the best that could said about him was his smile. but that, too, faded over time.
princes did not smile, you see. not with their eyes. they tipped their chins up and looked over their subject’s heads. how would you smile if you never were to meet their gaze? jhin, however, was different. he’d look even the servant, who worked to take care of his every need, in the eye, befriend the gardener who maintained his favourite daisy meadow, taste-test everything in the kitchen with the chef laughing by his side. no, he wasn’t like the other princes and princesses who carried themselves with a sort of grandeur that was stifling to the royal servants. not how they often walked around stiffly, like a dolly stick was glued to their spines. where they were rigid, he was free-spirited, and friendly and everything a prince should not have been. maybe if they had cared enough to drill the youngest into the deep-seated discontentment the monarchy seemed to thrive off, he would not have been adored. instead, he was loved, and not feared. he was not a prince.
that only made them hate him more.
simple avoidance turned into degradation. they had the decency to start slow. he was never in the public eye to begin with, the people of his kingdom oblivious to an heir such as him. they did not care, he would think. not as long as the harvest was plentiful and their pockets full. so when he disappeared from knightings and other public ceremonies, no one quite noticed. even if they did— like the servants of the monarch— they remained silent, for they were powerless. who were they to question the rulers of the land? it was always better to keep their mouths shut to things the gods battled over. the royal family was to itself its own.
his siblings were every bit as cruel as they were ambitious. they never did anything in his presence. they were like that— the monarch— the hilt of their sword to your back, never your front. they never revealed themselves. he was naive, then. it was a simpler time. life had not taught him enough for him to understand why they shunned him. hid his prized possessions. blamed him for mistakes he never committed. he would cry himself to sleep at night, empty stomach doing nothing to coax his indignation. why would a boy of six years deserve the harshness of his own siblings? what had he done, exactly, to warrant such duress? the answer was uncomplicated, in retrospect. it was simply because of who he was born to, the silver spoon in his mouth.
in some ways, maybe they beat the hope out of him. his skin bled purple, blue and light. they never had the guts to do it themselves. it was gullible of him to think that they found it hard to lay hands on their baby brother. it was probably their fear. perhaps they found it a chore. they never had to pick up a finger to do anything in their life— this was just one of the many things they outsourced to servants who were terrified to act against their orders.
he hoped, and he hoped, and he hoped. and one day, he stops hoping. what good was a king who did not hear his son’s cries? what good was a father who always had more important things to do? a mother, who knew of nothing, and cared so much less than what she knew. of siblings who despised him, wanted him dead. what good were the friends he made in the castle who cowered at higher power. became deaf to his pleas, blind at the atrocities, mute in comfort. jhin did not smile anymore. he did not talk. he did not leave his room. he was not afraid, but he was tired.
the only thing that eased him was the sea. his palace wing perched on a huge jagged rock along the coast. it overlooked the stormy blue ocean, and he would spend his days barefoot on the lower rocks where his toes could feel the sand. they had once called him prince Ōkeanós. an old time word for the ocean. now, they barely called him at all. perhaps it was better like this, to be alone. to feel the waves lap at his toes, the salty mist drawn over his face, unruly hair strewn backwards. to hear the tide crash in silence. he was at peace. the loneliness was as gritty as the sand beneath his feet— he supposed this was their way of teaching him. only the monarch was capable of feeling melancholy in such power. a gilded cage made from gold and adorned with jewels was still a cage. was it right for a boy, a mere ten years of age, to be so mournful? not for a simple fisherboy, but for a prince in waiting, it was all too normal. he was starting to understand them, maybe. his brothers. all this could only have been born from a place of complete isolation and despair. it was not hard to imagine them in such a position. it did not make what they did forgivable, but it eased jhin enough for him to shed his outer garments and wade into the tide. he half-expected his favourite guard to hold him by the elbow and guide him out, that one maid that felt like a mother to chide him into stepping back ashore. it’s too cold for swimming, little prince. she’d say in that tone of hers. today, however, there was only the sound of howling wind. it seemed they had turned their backs on him too.
the garments he kept on soaked through in a second. they clung to his skin in a way that should have been uncomfortable, but all he felt was warmth. they used to say he had an affinity with the ocean, that he had been born on the first day the tide retreated and no longer crashed noisily over the coast. that poseidon, himself, had watched over his birth. old time myths were never lost on him. he treasured the stories as he would a person. now, with his eyes closed, he let himself drift off to these tales, of a god with a trident who ruled over the seas.
he stayed like this for a good while, water lapping at his shoulder blades, and tried not to fall asleep. he didn’t know how far from shore he had drifted, pulled in by the current. he could only tell it had been awhile by the way the sun scorched the skin of his nape. the salinity of the sea water made his new wounds sting, but he had remembered a servant once telling him that the pain would help it heal. a remedy as old as time, he had said. jhin allowed himself to be swept away in the things of the past, ever so often. it was to be his downfall.
the hands that grabbed him were familiar. sinewy things that he had seen more than a few times. it did not matter when he was pushed underwater, all the same. with his head submerged, he could barely make out the silhouette through his half-parted eyes. the saltwater stung, but this felt like his chest was on fire. it was only a game, was it not? just another one of their pranks that would end in him being near death, but never quite dead. when he struggled, he was pushed further down. he felt his head getting lighter, foggy with the amount of water he had swallowed. his mouth felt like sandpaper and his throat throbbed, raw with his screaming. it dawned upon him that this was their last effort. he was not going to live this time. more than anything, they wanted him dead, and they always got what they wanted. there was no way he would survive this— they had thought so, at least. enough to send one of their own to trip on their power and finish the task. his brother smiled above him, drowning the boy. it felt right for him to die in a place he loved most. where he felt safe. jhin let his limbs fall loose, no longer resisting, and with his body light, his eyes fluttered close.
the hands he had grown up worshipping finally let go of him. he felt the current shift as the man waded back to where he had came from. jhin pushed himself into a spot where he could keep his head above water with his feet on the ground, stuck his head up and breathed in greedily. his lungs still felt heavy with salt, and the water made him choke and splutter, but he was drowned out by a loud wave crashing over the rocks. the sea was truly on his side. he acted before his brother noticed. it would be a lie to say it was a mistake. not with the way he lifted the man’s bleeding head and slammed it against the sharpest rock again, and again, until his garments were soaked with more blood than water. he did not just want him to die. he wanted him to feel pain. he wanted them to pay. he wanted to be feared. the water around his feet washed him clean, but the sea bled crimson. he was at peace.
the fourth prince to the throne had died, and suddenly he was a murderer being tried for treachery to the crown. it mattered not that he had been attacked first. or that he had almost died and acted upon self-defence. perhaps this had been their plan all along; two birds with one stone. it was not enough for him to die. they wanted jhin to suffer as much as he had wanted the fourth prince to cry out in mercy. that was his sin to bear. they would have him strung up in the public square and stoned to death. made a joke out of by his own people before his inevitable passing. maybe it would have worked out as planned if it weren’t for the thin circlet that mostly stayed hidden amongst his curly locks. they, as he did, sometimes forgot he was a prince. he did not act like much.
his status kept him from execution, but it did not change the fact that he was a murderer, branded a criminal and a permanent stain on his family’s lineage. they could not look divided to their neighbours. it would make them look weak and easily overthrown. his father had spent his life scrambling to keep his kingdom and would not risk losing it over a son like jhin. he had to be erased from history.
this is how he became an orphan. with no parents, no family name and no inheritance.
he was to be sent away. exiled to a kingdom far from sight. the death of his brother had been announced as an accident, and his trip, a diplomatic one. it was not uncommon for lower princes to marry women of noble birthright in allied kingdoms. the people did not seem to care. in a few years he would be forgotten completely, his name removed from writing. there would be no thirteenth son of ezekiel. he would not have existed.
no one came to see him off. he had become a prince, had he not? the remorseless killing, the hollow eyes, his melancholy. it seemed this would not be enough for them either. the thought alone made him chuckle. they had finally gotten what they wanted.
the trip spanned forty days and forty nights on sea, and another eighteen moons on horse. they wanted him far away, away from sight to be forgotten quietly. he did not speak to the messengers who guided him along and they did not move to engage him in any way. he could tell they were afraid.
when he arrived, he was brought before the king, whom he refused to bow to. the royal guard forced him to his knees and he laid prostrate against his will, but he did not struggle. he had no family, no king, no god. the act meant nothing; not respect or fear or submission. rather, he was glad to be able to lay down after weeks of travelling.
“what is your name?” jhin had been exiled to be fostered in this man’s kingdom, yet he did not know of his name.
jhin ground his teeth and kept silent. the grip on his shoulders tightened and he felt panic rise in his throat. it was too soon.
“jhin.” his reply breathy.
“do you know why you’re here?” what a foolish, pointless question. he had been sent with a bag of gold in exchange for being kept as a servant. surely, the king knew. he was the only one aware of his prior status. this was a pitiful attempt at trying to humiliate him.
“to live in servitude.” jhin did not see why he should have to answer, but he also did not want them to push him down by his shoulders again. the king seemed satisfied by his answers, and with a swift flick of his hand, jhin was dragged away from the throne room.
he did not have much in ways of personal belongings, but was forced to dump whatever he had in the servant quarters before being ushered away from the empty room again. all he wanted was to lay down on the uncomfortable looking pallet and sleep. instead, he was now in a hall full of servant boys around his age. they all wore the same expression— fear— one jhin knew too well. they looked terrified as they fidgeted in their spots, afraid to speak or even let their backs touch the wall behind them. like they would be reprimanded if they were an inch out of line. before he could turn to the boy next to him to ask, the doors at the head of the room swung open and the air grew cold.
“his royal highness, crown prince, ahn baekhyun.” he swore he heard the boys beside him stop breathing entirely. jhin never understood the need for such practices, but at least now he knew who he was looking at. while all the other servants in the room immediately had their heads bowed in respect and trepidation, jhin looked around the room in pure boredom. he had seen enough. the prince was nothing but a boy, his age, wearing a cape too big for his shoulders and a crown that weighed heavy on his head. jhin nearly pitied the boy, until it became clear that he was just like them, perhaps even worse. this prince did not seem to care for pleasantries. he used fear to his advantage, twisted these poor boys around his pinky and watched them snivel in terror. his gratuitous cruelty became clear in an instant. jhin was not surprised in the slightest. it seemed the heavier the crown, the more vicious they became. his heart still ached for the strangers he saw scorned and kicked to the ground, but he did not flinch. it was as to be expected.
he barely notices when the prince stops in line before him, too busy tracing out the intricate lines on the ceiling. they were fascinating, the patterns. he had never seen things of the sort from his native land. it made him wonder how far away he was from the kingdom.
“look me in the eye.” the prince had a piercing voice, the kind that commanded complete and utter submission. jhin felt as bored as he looked, staring determinedly at the clock. he wondered, briefly, if the guards were going to push him onto his knees again. maybe he would be able to take a nap while he laid on his knees.
“i, his royal highness, the crown prince, ahn baekhyun, order you to look me in the eye.” jhin nearly laughed. what boy his age spoke like that? was that normal here? it sounded ridiculous.
for that alone, he was forced down to the ground by his collar. the prince was stronger than his slight stature would suggest. it took jhin by surprise, but he was yet to make a sound. he would have to work a lot harder to break jhin. there was little that scared him now. yet, the boy kept trying. “would you rather stare at the mud on the floor for the rest of your life?!” jhin considers it impassively. maybe. if it meant that he would not have to endure such meaningless brutality.
his silence had only made the young prince more angry. it was clear that he was lashing out on the servants in his already foul mood, but jhin had made things worse. he did not care much, but the foot on the back of his head was starting to hurt and he could not fall asleep in this position. he grunted, and finally, the prince moved away, satisfied in what he thought to be power over him. jhin would not let him have that pleasure. with his arm stuck up in a way that he knew would cause the boy to fall, or at least trip, he waited, head up to see that it was fulfilled. it worked and the prince stumbled, and jhin had to stop himself from breaking out into fits of laughter at how stupid he looked— the realisation, shock and anger clear on his features. there was a moment where he seemed consumed by rage, like he was going to turn on his heel and finish the job, crack jhin’s head open on the marble floors. instead, he did something that left jhin confused— he spoke again, before walking away.
“this one!”
before he could gather his thoughts and catch his breath, jhin was pulled back up onto his feet roughly and dragged into yet another room with no explanation.
it was certain that this would be his life now. here, fallen from grace and stripped of glory, he was but a servant. it would take awhile for him to realise the weight rags could carry. until then, he would continue to suffer, retaliate in his silly pride, before that was taken from him, too.
