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[FILL] of glory, crowned
Major Tags: Violence, Minor Character Death, Implied Parental Abuse
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Historical, Lovers to Enemies, somewhat an arthur/lancelot AU, truly just an ode to Excalibur DK, when it’s love and not hatred that breaks you
Permission to remix: Yes
A/N: op thank you for prompting this! this is my first seokgyu ever and I had a lot, like A LOT of fun <33
​Metres below the silvery surface of calm waters, a bright blade lay in wait on the soft and sandy lakebed. As foretold, under a cloudless sky on the eighteenth night of the second month, the world welcomed the prince destined to wield the sword. His birth marked the death of three: his mother, a beloved queen, of gruesome childbirth; his mid-wife, a famed sorceress, hanged for her king's greed; and a heart, that of a benevolent man, lost to rage and grief.
Seokmin limped to his quarters in the dark, taking care not to be seen. He loved his father enough to do so, even though the circumstances of his upbringing were never a secret. From the yangbans at court to the cooks in the kitchen, everyone knew how the king regularly delivered Seokmin’s punishment for being alive. He had heard from a young nursemaid how his father had coveted an heir enough to turn to magic for answers. Unfortunately, the king did not understand the price when he agreed to the terms.
Now, Seokmin was the one paying it. In blood and tears.
He slid open the door and found a familiar face waiting on his bed.
“Seokmin,” Mingyu started, tone steeped in concern.
Seokmin mustered up his best smile. “It’s not as bad this time.”
The young officer shook his head. They were used to this routine. Seokmin would come back from the king’s quarter with a fresh set of wounds and Mingyu would tend to him wordlessly, intimately. Tonight, instead of fetching the gilded tray upon which the cotton gauzes and medicinal herbs were placed, Mingyu came to stand before him.
“I have something to show you.”
“What is it?”
Seokmin stilled when Mingyu slowly disrobed him. His gaze bored into Seokmin, even as his hands travelled the breadth of Seokmin’s shoulders and snaked around his body. An uncomfortable wince escaped him when Mingyu touched a still-bleeding cut. Then Mingyu said something—in a language Seokmin did not understand, in a tongue never taught to him by the scholars assigned to deliver his education—and Seokmin felt the pain leave him in a heartbeat.
Mingyu released him and stepped away. Seokmin watched him, uncertain, and slowly put one hand behind him. He gasped. The welts on his back were gone. Not healed—gone, as if they were never there to start. Seokmin had known Mingyu since they were young boys. They spent happy years running around the palace, leaving mud trails on newly mopped floors, and falling through canvas doors in playful tumbles. He never knew.
He never knew.
“You—“
He had magic. All this time. Hiding in plain sight, in a palace that had abhorred and outlawed his existence since the night of Seokmin’s birth.
“Do you hate me?”
“No,” Seokmin answered instantly.
“Are you scared of me?”
I’m scared for you, he thought. “Mingyu, you can never do that again. My father has eyes and ears everywhere—“ Seokmin shuddered at the thought of Mingyu wearing a necklace of rope, his feet kicking in the air, face drained of colours. “I can’t lose you. Please.”
He had seen what loss did to men. It rendered the compassionate heartless, turned kings into inebriates, and transformed fathers into monsters.
“Does it hurt?”
“What?” Mingyu made a vague gesture to his back so Seokmin would catch on to his meaning. “No, the pain is gone.“
“Then I will do it again,” he said firmly.
“Mingyu,” Seokmin pleaded through gritted teeth. “Do your parents know?”
“Only Abeoji, since he passed the gift on to me."
"And what did he say?"
"We don't talk about the important things," Mingyu shrugged. "Keep your head down and work hard. Climb up the ranks. Don't cause your mother any grief. He says what every father says.”
Not every father, Seokmin thought.
“Those are the important things.” He grabbed Mingyu’s shoulders, so he had no choice but to look at him. “Listen to me: you can never do that again. Do you hear me?”
“Tell me you understand,” Mingyu returned, voice growing quieter. “The reason I would risk death.”
And Seokmin did. Seokmin understood what tormented Mingyu’s heart; his demons wore the same faces. Whenever he put Mingyu flat on his back out on the training ground, Seokmin desperately wanted to climb over him. The desire to discover the sounds he would make if Seokmin mouthed along his sun-kissed shoulder was ever-growing.
He stepped forward, fingers curled around one end of Mingyu’s silk jeondae. Seokmin pulled once, a harsh tug. The sash came loose.
Â
Mingyu kept his promise. The punishment got worse as Seokmin got older, but Mingyu kept his promise. He cared for Seokmin with his warm hands and spoke only words Seokmin could recognise.
“What else can you do?”
Mingyu turned to him, bright eyes coloured with vivid surprise. His hair, undone, spilt like ink over Seokmin’s silk pillowcase. Seokmin wanted to be inside him again, to be wrapped in his intoxicating warmth.
“Not much. Enough to entertain honoured guests at a party, I suppose. The gisaengs would lose their livelihood to me.” He rolled on top of Seokmin, kissing a line down his neck. “I mean, look, the prospective ladies of the court have already lost their precious wangseja to me.”
Seokmin pinched his side lightly. Mingyu squirmed, then laughed against Seokmin’s cheek. His body shook with amusement and since the king had been away from the capital for a week, Seokmin allowed himself to join him.
“Answer the question.”
“Other than healing, my gift lies in illusion.” Mingyu’s lips found his ear. He nudged Seokmin to turn his face to the side. “Here, watch.”
Doing as Mingyu bid, Seokmin paid close attention to the glass lantern placed above a low bedside table. The shadows it cast on the wall seemed ordinary at first, until Seokmin started making out shapes—and, in time, a story. He recognised the first one. An old legend. A bear, a tiger, a cave. Then, once he had visited the past, Mingyu travelled to the future.
“There is a prophecy known amongst my people. A lady lives beneath a silver lake. She safeguards a sword that promises freedom. Once a king, the prince must come to her. Take what is his by right and bring light into the world.”
Seokmin stared at the dancing flames. “I don’t understand.”
“You will."
Seokmin sat motionless in a room of shattered porcelain and spilt wine. Before him, a king lay dead. A minute ago, he had launched into a passionate speech about their kingdom and its people, and how Seokmin could never be trusted to lead them. The fiery monologue had forewarned a terrible night, but Seokmin had not prepared for the king’s face to turn blue mid-sentence. Within seconds, he had gone from thumping his fist against his chest in a silent war cry to lying flat on his back, unmoving.
Down the hall, someone laughed in delight. Seokmin snapped out of his trance.
“Call the physician!” Seokmin barked to the attending servant, rushing to kneel by the king’s side. “Hurry! What are you waiting for?!” He demanded when the servant remained frozen. Seokmin turned around to repeat his order, only to find her gone, Mingyu standing in her place.
Seokmin faltered. “W-what? What is the meaning of this?”
“Ah.” Mingyu looked apologetic. “I didn’t know.”
It was summer, and the heat was sweltering, but cold perspiration trickled down Seokmin’s back. “What? Mingyu, what do you mean? What have you done?”
“I’ve never seen how it works on a man. The spell to stop one’s heart.”
Aghast, Seokmin scrabbled away from him until his back was against the wall. He stared at Mingyu, then at his late father, and back at Mingyu again. There was fascination dancing in his brown eyes. Those hands, which had only ever nourished Seokmin’s life, had now committed an unforgivable sin.
“You did this?" Seokmin did not understand. The king didn't know about them, he was sure of it. Did Mingyu not have faith in his protection? Even if he did fear being found out, they could have run. Seokmin would have run with him. "Mingyu, why?”
Mingyu canted his head as though the answer was obvious. He sauntered over to Seokmin, lowering himself to him. “Had I not, you would be dead before you could become king.”
Seokmin's eyes widened.
“I never—“
“You didn’t have to,” he said sweetly, leaning in to catch Seokmin’s lips.
This was not for him, Seokmin realised as Mingyu gently coaxed his way inside. It never was. The king wanted a worthy heir. Mingyu wanted a divine saviour. Seokmin was never any of those things. Seokmin was a son and a lover. Now he was none of those things, either. If Mingyu wanted to be free, Seokmin would fulfil his wish. This was the least he could do.
He kissed Mingyu back with equal fervour, cornering him against the dining table. Mingyu hummed happily against his mouth. It gave Seokmin time to reach for the dagger he knew Mingyu wore at his waist. Once the handle was in his grip, he plunged the blade into the soft flesh of Mingyu’s belly. Mingyu withdrew; his movements were sluggish, mind still floating in the clouds. He looked down. Lines of incomprehension decorated his forehead.
“Seokmin-ah?”
Fresh blood stained the unsullied steel and blossomed across Mingyu’s robe, spreading as rapidly as frost grew around Seokmin’s heart. Mingyu let out a rattled gasp, his hands clawing at Seokmin’s wrist. He twisted the blade. Mingyu screamed. His flesh made a soft noise as his body unravelled at Seokmin’s hand. Swallowing the last of his humanity, Seokmin jerked his arm back. A sickening sound spliced the air, severing the thread that held them together forever.
“Leave," Seokmin commanded.
An injury like that, on top of the sounds he’d made—the royal guards would seize him before he could exit the gates. Mingyu would die, undoubtedly, but Seokmin did not have to watch the light abandon his eyes. He had lost enough for one night.
“This…” Mingyu coughed up blood, droplets of crimson dotting his sleeves. “This is not mercy, is it?”
He turned away from Mingyu. His father was dead. Seokmin had to bury him. The kingdom he left behind was Seokmin’s to rule. Illusions had no place in his reign.Â
“No.”
Mercy? Never. It was punishment. When the grim reapers came for him, Mingyu would have no one to hold his hand. When they weighed his crimes in the afterlife, there would be no forgiveness to alleviate his sentence. He would walk a never-ending road in hell.
And, when the time came, Seokmin would join him.
 Â
“Jeonha.”
Yoon Jeonghan bowed upon entering the Great Hall. He had returned at last after a fortnight lost to hunting a ghost; an important task entrusted to him and four other capable men. The general had questions and objections, initially. Having come from a yangban family, however, meant that he knew better than to test the forgiving nature of a man freshly thrust into greatness. The crown had never fit a head more.
“My congratulations on your ascension.”
The king stared him down, eyes dark and emotionless. Jeonghan remembered the young man whom he had witnessed training with a mid-ranking officer just short of a year prior, his bonguk geom shining in his hold. There was kindness in him; a word seemingly foreign to the figure sitting on the throne.
“May your reign be peaceful and prosperous,” the general continued carefully.
“Kim Mingyu,” the king finally spoke, tone cutting. “What news do you have?”
“We have not found a body. Perhaps foxes or other beasts ate what remained of him; there have been recent sightings—“
“He’s alive.” Jeonghan frowned, failing to see how one would come to that conclusion. The king rose, his long black robe sweeping the floor as he walked past the general. They said this was the only colour he would wear even after the mourning period had ended. “Fetch me a scholar well-versed in geography. There is a lake I must locate.”
His confusion deepened. A lake? What did a king want with a lake? Jeonghan's curiosity got the better of him. “May I inquire, jeonha, what is it that you intend to do?”
The king halted and cast Jeonghan a sideways glance. From where he stood, Jeonghan could see the golden flecks in his inky irises.Â
“Cleanse our peninsula from a stubborn plague.” His lips stretched to an eerie smile; a beast-like grin the general had seen on tigers moments before they pounced on their prey. “Magic.”
yangbans: members of wealthy, ruling-class families, typically those working as civil servants or military officers / jeondae: a belt worn over military uniform / gisaengs: courtesans / wangseja: crown prince / jeonha: (to address the king) Your Majesty / bonguk geom: single-edged sword
Re: [FILL] of glory, crowned
Besides that, I'm glad you had fun writing my fill! I will forever reread this.
Re: [FILL] of glory, crowned
Re: [FILL] of glory, crowned
Re: [FILL] of glory, crowned
[REMIX] every lover's got a little dagger in their hand
Major Tags: explicit sexual content, possible MCD
Additional Tags: ghost sex, possibly dream sex, sex illusion, historical au, King Seokmin, Mingyu is an unidentifiable entity
Permission to remix: Please ask
WC 570
A/N: The tags mostly cover all the things to look out for. I didn't tag dubcon because Seokmin is quite an eager participant, but I'm also unsure whether you can give your active consent to a ghost/entity you cannot see, so please tread ahead bearing that in mind. Sorry for bastardizing your baby, Vee.
***
Seokmin wakes with a start and finds his chambers plunged into darkness.
The moon shines high in the sky outside and when Seokmin feels around for the candle on his bedside , the heat stings his fingertips—half of it is still standing.
Seokmin doesn’t have to investigate what put out its fire. He can already sense it in the air, gripping the sheets next to his ankles, pressing down on his pillows.
It seems neither death nor magic can diminish the way Seokmin’s body intrinsically knows what is about to happen—it has been many, many years since Seokmin last touched Kim Mingyu but not a day has gone by when he forgot what it felt like.
He is disrobed with an urgency characteristic of a desperation only the most vicious of partings can bring, and he allows it—helps even, raising his back when fingers trace his spine and curling his knees closer when a gust of air closes in on his feet.
He’s trembling by the time he’s laid bare on his sheets, a strange mix of nostalgia and anticipation—a desire for all the things he’s put to death with his own bare hands. It’s not fear though. Fear would mean Seokmin’s dagger missed its mark—and it didn’t.
Seokmin doesn’t regret stabbing Mingyu. He regrets letting him escape alive.
He suddenly gasps, as he feels his breath choked out of him, and it takes him a few seconds too long to realise he is being kissed to within an inch of his life—quite literally and with intent.
He lets his hands hook onto what looks like thin air and leverages upwards, pushing back until he’s sitting up. His lungs swell like a balloon in his chest, each moment that he spends unwilling to part from the kiss lengthening the strain on it until it pops and he’s heaving mouthfuls of air.
But it’s not enough because he leans back for more—and gets what he wants without a fight. Maybe they’re both willing to die for this kiss…maybe death only aggravates the agonies that one hopes to leave behind with the living.
Before he is overpowered again, he grinds his hips upwards hoping to meet with some resistance. When he does, he grinds up again and again, until he can almost imagine Mingyu resting against Seokmin’s collarbone, nosing his way up Seokmin’s throat as Seokmin took his time driving MIngyu to the edge.
It’s a damn shame Seokmin can’t see his face. Mingyu always did blush so prettily when he was being taken apart.
His momentary distraction unarms him and Seokmin finds himself on his back again, looking up into nothingness and waiting for the inevitable.
Maybe he will wake up tomorrow and realise this was all a dream, wished up by memories Seokmin had learnt to bury every night that his father called for his company. Maybe he’ll wake up with no memory of the darkness touching him at all—Mingyu had always been powerful and who knew what he was become capable of, in the years that he had spent biding his time and slinking into corners of the kingdom that always evaded Seokmin’s reach.
But for now, all Seokmin cares to deal with is the night, and its shadow—perched as it was on his hip.
Seokmin sighs, letting his eyes fall shut, and an all-too-familiar warmth finally engulfs him.
Re: [REMIX] every lover's got a little dagger in their hand
it has been many, many years since Seokmin last touched Kim Mingyu but not a day has gone by when he forgot what it felt like. - ARE THOU KIDDING MEEEEEE. wanting someone you don't regret stabbing but regret having let escape even years after the fact so much so you're willing to give yourself up to air that just feels like him!!! fuck!!! what the fuck!!!
Mingyu always did blush so prettily when he was being taken apart. [PTERODACTYL SCREECHING]
these lines in particular. I'm bonkers about them put in context, together: Maybe he will wake up tomorrow and realise this was all a dream, wished up by memories Seokmin had learnt to bury every night that his father called for his company. and But for now, all Seokmin cares to deal with is the night, and its shadow—perched as it was on his hip.
I always admire how you wrap complexity in subtlety and do it so well T______T. the aftermath of betrayal and how one lives with it... the desperation inherent in succumbing to the ghosts of the past. Maybe they’re both willing to die for this kiss GAH. PB.
not joking when I said this is better than the original fic. I'm forever honoured. this is a high I'd never come down from. THANK U.
[REMIX] all the way through
Major Tags: Violence
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Historical, Enemies to Lovers/Lovers to Enemies, Ghost Sex...in a way
Permission to remix: Please ask
a/n: pb, 2024 is the year of writing for friends and it starts with you. happy birthday. you are so dear to me. if you hate this please don't let me know, I'd wither and die.
The brewing storm exacerbated the tension inside Minghao’s head. His father wanted him to stay within the palace gates in case the armistice extended by their besieger had proved to be a trap. Minghao adamantly refused. He wanted to see the enemy for himself. The man who had purged the entire peninsula of magic and had come to smother the dying embers on the last hearth: Minghao’s kingdom. With the wind lashing against his back and the cold turning his lips blue, Minghao stood tall beside his father.
“We both know you haven’t charged our gates because you believe we stand a chance against your forces,” the king said, voice imbued with confidence.
A bold claim, Minghao had to say. Magic gave them an inherent advantage, but Minghao had observed the size and aptitude of Lee Seokmin’s army. Any victory they managed to seize would have an insignificant margin. Fight, and the blood of the fallen would run the rivers red for years to come. A thousand lineages ended on the field before dusk, ancient houses buried under the bodies of their sons.
Lee Seokmin was not easily deterred. When he laughed, Minghao detected winter’s bitterness etched deep into the sound. Minghao’s magic coiled around his fingers. He wanted a touch.
“I am fighting a war I believe in. I have accepted the price of doing so,” Lee Seokmin answered calmly. “Have you?”
He had no intention of winning, Minghao realised. He had planned to meet his end with a sword in hand, as many enemies as possible dead at his feet. Once, his teacher had told Minghao that the God of Death fears only one enemy: a man who would embrace him like a longtime friend.
“Surrender now and make the sacrifice you can afford.”
Give up magic.
“How do I know your army will not put a sword through our chests the moment we chain our hands?”
“I have let others who abide by my rules live.” That much was true. “Is that not proof enough?”
“No,” answered Minghao’s father. “You are sharp enough to keep them alive and leverage them as proof, but this is your last negotiation. We are the last of our kind. You can betray us, and them, tomorrow or whenever you see fit.”
Lee Seokmin acknowledged the argument with a nod. “If you give me one of your daughters to wed, then our kingdoms will be one. Your people will be mine. I would have to answer to my ancestors and yours for any harm I let befall them.”
Minghao swallowed. The winds had calmed, but the storm had moved inside his body.
His father stared at Lee Seokmin.
“I have no daughters.”
The warrior’s war-hardened gaze slid to Minghao. “Then a son.”
From that moment on, his body moved on its own. He remembered, only vaguely, of his mother asking if this was what he wanted. Minghao did not know what he wanted, he only knew he was far from ready to pay the price Lee Seokmin spoke of. They were wedded twice. Once in Minghao’s customs, then in Lee Seokmin’s. The first time, his father enchanted his ceremonial robe until Minghao had walked to the dais engulfed in flames. Seokmin allowed them to escape unscathed. He granted them one last act of resistance before they bowed their heads and vowed to be people they were not.
“He wasn’t always this way,” a tall, foreign attendant had revealed to Minghao when he helped him change out of his formalwear inside his new, foreign quarters. “He used to smile. Maybe he can again.”
The man had gone before Minghao could ask him more. Minghao noted the distinct way his coat strings had been fastened. His mother used the same style, one she had told him came naturally to people with a dominant left hand. Recollections of his home were dispersed as a knock rapped on his door, informing Minghao of Lee Seokmin’s summon.
His husband had chosen to remain in the military uniform he wore to their celebration feast. Minghao scanned the room and wondered what he wanted.
“Remember your oath,” he warned, mistaking Minghao’s innocent observation to have ulterior motives. “Blow a candle using magic and I will cut your parents’ throat before I cut yours.”
“Our journey home had not made me forgetful,” Minghao replied carefully.
Lee Seokmin deemed his response satisfactory and nodded. “You are not a prisoner, so make your wishes known. I will grant them as long as they are reasonable.”
“Thank you.” Minghao hadn’t expected that. “That is generous.”
“But—”
“But?”
“Do not seek love. You will find none here.”
“Love?” Minghao laughed tiredly. His bones ached at the thought of being buried in this place. “I’d rather find you to be a man of your word.”
Minghao glanced at the low bedside table, where a deadly curved blade rested inside its sheath. Seokmin followed his line of sight.
“Do all the warriors in your kingdom prefer the company of steel over men?”
He knew Lee Seokmin was to take a concubine. Keep his bloodline alive. There was no need for the sacrifice Minghao was so willing to give him.
The king turned his gaze to Minghao again. “Some prefer men.”
Minghao raised his hand. The king watched. His fingers curled around the ends of Lee Seokmin’s silk jeondae. Slowly, Minghao pulled the tight knot free until the loosened sash fell to the floor. The earthy scent clinging to Lee Seokmin’s skin awakened Minghao’s senses.
It awakened something else inside him, too: a wild, fierce beast. Magic refused to bow to the commands of men, to the decree of kings. Minghao kept his word. He resisted the desire to wield his powers. But when magic chose to wield him, there was nothing Minghao could do to stop it.
Lee Seokmin touched his cheek. Minghao closed his eyes and saw another man. Lee Seokmin set him down on their marriage bed and Minghao became the other man, an understudy claiming the spotlight from the star of the show. Lee Seokmin's lips found his. Minghao returned his enthusiasm the way the man he pretended to be once had.
No one would tell Minghao what he wanted to know at first, and not for a lack of trying on his part. He could not trust the yangbans in his court—they served no master but their purses. Despite his apparent cruelty, Seokmin had instilled an unwavering sense of loyalty in his guards; Minghao slowly learned to distinguish the sentiment from fear, often most reflected in the eyes of the servants.
In them, he found a few exceptions to the rule.
The royal physician had delivered both the late king and Seokmin; he whispered in Minghao’s ear about the late king’s desperation for an heir after his queen and concubines delivered one stillbirth after another. He turned to magic. Minghao frowned. Magic cannot create life. The physician confirmed his belief, that it had taken the queen in exchange for the crown prince. Seokmin’s late father had the woman who spoke the words hanged, and outlawed magic.
Initially sent for Minghao’s entertainment, the dancers found his company to be theirs instead. Minghao shared his poetry collection and they told him of the boy Seokmin grew up with: a promising young man who disappeared one night, never to be seen again.
As Minghao showed her how to best use the vegetables they recently acquired from his region, a young kitchen maid revealed that the young man disappeared on the night of the old king's untimely demise.
“Take five men with you,” Seokmin decided, eyes locked on the maps covering the table in front of him. Minghao had asked to leave the palace to visit the local market. Well-known merchants from homeland had arrived in the capital yesterday, it would be good to hear news of home. “General Yoon should be one of them.”
“What are you looking for?” asked Minghao.
This time, Seokmin raised his gaze. “A lake. A silver lake. Do you know of it?”
“No. What kind of lake is coloured silver?”
“We shall find out.” The corner of Seokmin’s mouth lifted. “Go on, Myungho. I want you back before sunset.”
His name, localised to Seokmin’s language, occupied his thoughts as he walked through the market. In his absentmindedness, Minghao let a young merchant come too close to him. Lee Jihoon instinctively stepped between them, blade drawn. Minghao placed a hand on his arm.
“Put your weapon away. You’re scaring the girl.”
“I’m not scared, Your Highness!” the girl exclaimed. Grinning, she handed Minghao a lovely conch. Something about her eyes reminded him of a person he had never seen. She turned her gaze away before Minghao had more time to observe her, mentally counting the number of guards he had around him. “There are only 10 members of the royal guard. The king must value your life as much as he values his!”
When Minghao relayed her observation to his husband over dinner, Seokmin looked amused. The semblance of a smile appeared on his face.
“The girl is mistaken.”
“Is she?”
“I value yours more.”
Minghao knew Seokmin meant it in a political sense, that keeping Minghao alive was crucial to maintaining peace in his newly unified kingdom. Nonetheless, Minghao had to catch himself before he could make the drooping flowers on their windowsill stand upright again.
Seokmin had warned Minghao not to expect his love but failed to warn Minghao not to love him. Not that it ever occurred to Minghao, until the unmistakable truth had stared him in the face, that he might love the man who threatened his family and put chains around his people’s wrists.
It had been months since his eyes began to follow Seokmin’s movements as he sparred with Jeonghan, his famous sword shining under the summer sun. Under the hot glare, Minghao saw Seokmin’s younger self. He heard the unrestrained glee in his laughter after he managed to put his lover on his back a third time. Minghao felt the way Seokmin had climbed over him, pushed aside the other man’s robe so he could mouth along his sun-kissed shoulder.
“Who was he?”
Seokmin set his chopsticks aside. Winter clouded his eyes when he raised his gaze to meet Minghao’s.
“His name was Kim Mingyu.”
Minghao flexed his hands. His fingertips tingled.
“You once said to make my wishes known.”
Seokmin grimaced, reading Minghao’s intentions so easily as though they were put on parchment before him. “I cannot give you this.”
“Why not? A man wants his husband’s heart. Does that sound unreasonable to you?”
Rising from his seat, Seokmin swiped a blade from the dining table. Minghao held his breath as Seokmin bridged the distance between them. He seized Minghao’s wrist and pressed the wooden handle into his open palm. Seokmin moved closer until the deadly tip bit into his chest.
“You must cut me open,” he said, voice low. “That is the only way to get what you are asking for: the carcass of what once belonged to him.”
Minghao drew a sharp breath. He slowly lowered the weapon and pressed his ear to Seokmin’s chest instead, listening to his heartbeat. Seokmin let him do what he wanted for a fleeting moment. Then, his mouth brushed against the peak of Minghao’s forehead. He was gone the next second. Cold air scrambled and failed to replace his warmth.
It was hard to despise someone who only wanted to survive, even if Kim Mingyu did leave a hollow shell of a man for Minghao to love. It felt selfish to hate the dead.
“Hello,” the shadow greeted.
Those features were unmistakable, and so was that distinct speech. His pleasant rasp, the measured cadence of his delivery. Minghao had heard the voice come out of his mouth as his husband had taken him.
Minghao rampaged his mind for a burial scene and came up empty. He saw Seokmin burying a dagger in Mingyu, the angry crimson staining shiny steel and seeping through Mingyu’s robe, spreading rapidly as ink spilt on a blank canvas. He heard Mingyu’s rattled gasp, his hands clawing at Seokmin’s wrist. It started raining. No. It didn’t. Seokmin started crying, but his hold around the handle remained firm. He pushed the blade deeper and Mingyu’s flesh made a soft sound as his body split apart under him. Life drained from Mingyu’s eyes and Minghao watched as his words echoed in silence.
Had I not, you would be dead before you could become king.
Minghao saw all of that—but never a body wrapped in white.
“You’re alive,” he croaked.
“Indeed I am.”
His grin was wolflike and all too familiar. Power wrapped around Minghao, a suffocating strength. Kim Mingyu the callouses of the left-handed man and the sharp attentiveness of the merchant girl. How long had he been nearby, hiding in plain sight? Had he always lingered?
“Why did you wait?”
“Because you love him now, which means you might just spare me a minute. Tell me, prince consort. Do you have time for a story?”
Minghao’s heart pulsed in his ears. Mingyu made no move, only stood in wait for the inevitable. A realisation dawned on Minghao. Seokmin’s quest to eradicate magic might not only be revenge for what it had taken from him, but also a mission to eliminate the lines drawn between the worlds of star-crossed lovers. Minghao looked at Kim Mingyu and wondered what had motivated him to commit high treason. Worse, what had pushed him to betray his beloved.
Whatever it is, Minghao wanted to know.
When Minghao nodded, Kim Mingyu waved his hand in response. Magic sparked from his fingertips, blowing the candles out.
The darkness had never been so illuminating.
Re: [REMIX] all the way through