Archive of Our Own ^beta

Minho heads down the steps to his family’s crypt, torch held in one hand, the other braced against the wall because despite the flame it’s fairly dark until he reaches the bottom. Lighting the sconces closest to the crypt he seeks out, he places the torch in a holder and sits down cross-legged, staring up at the statue in front of him.

It’s made in his mother’s likeness, standing protectively over her crypt, and Minho wishes he had thought to bring flowers for the basin in her hands.

He wipes his eyes with his sleeve, annoyed and upset. He really should know better than to think his father will ever have time for him, but there’s still a part of him that thinks that maybe just this once , his father will pay him positive attention.

He’s twelve, he’s not a child. His father always tells him to grow up, but Minho doesn’t know how to tell him that he has already. That he can be grown-up and still want to play around sometimes. His mother always let him act his age when he had no lessons or duties to attend, and would even play with him sometimes.

It’s unfair. Unfair that she’s gone, unfair that his father won’t pay him attention unless it’s to ensure he’s following in his footsteps, unfair that she is dead but his father still lives-

He swallows. That last thought is blasphemous. He doesn’t mean it.

He just misses her. He stares up at her crypt and wishes he could open it and lay down in her arms just one more time.

There’s footsteps behind him, coming down the stairs, and he stiffens briefly before realizing that it’s probably Chan. No one else bothers to come down here, other than the crypt attendees. Surely never his father, whose face was stone-cold the entire time they laid Minho’s mother to rest.

“Minho?”

Minho tilts his head, looking back to see Chan appear. Chan looks relieved and smiles, coming to sit down next to him.

“I figured you’d be here. What happened this time?”

It’s not the first time Chan finds him in this place, and unlikely to be the last.

Minho shrugs, looking down at his hands. “Nothing. The usual.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean it,” Chan tries, but Minho immediately shakes his head.

“Of course he means it! He doesn’t want me to have any fun! He wants me to be like him!” Minho scowls. “He doesn’t care.”

“Of course he does.” Chan says, putting a hand on his shoulder, and despite Minho’s annoyance he can’t help but lean into it and trust in his words. Chan is barely a year older than him, but a year is still a lot of time, and he always seems to be infinitely wise. He gets it from his parents, he always says when Minho questions him.

“He just… he has a lot of duties as King, you know that, Minho-ya. He’ll come around.”

“I guess,” Minho replies glumly, “I wish I had your parents. I wish I wasn’t Prince.”

“I wish that too sometimes,” Chan says and chuckles, “it’d make it a lot easier to play with you. Imagine… imagine if we were farmers! Working in the fields, playing in the wheat stalks during harvest. That’d be a lot easier than… than all of this.”

He waves his arms around, and Minho thinks he gets what Chan means.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “yeah. Or maybe scholars!”

He grimaces. “Actually, forget that. Guards then. Saving princesses from towers, like in the stories.”

“I thought Princes were the ones doing the saving,” Chan says, wrinkling his nose, “right? Not guards.”

“The stories lie,” Minho proclaims, “the Princes would never be allowed to run off to save anyone from any towers at all. My father surely wouldn’t let me do it.”

Chan shrugs. “Makes sense.”

They fall into silence, until Chan rises to his feet. “Come on, let’s go. I’m sure you can hide in my room until you have to go back to being Prince.”

“Your parents won’t mind?” Minho asks, letting Chan help him to his feet.

“Nah,” Chan replies easily, “they love you, they won’t care.”

Minho grins and follows him back up the stairs and out of the crypt, sadness momentarily forgotten.

Minho doesn’t mean to overhear his father talking with one of his advisors, he really doesn’t.

It’s after supper, and he has some free time to play before he has to go to bed. Usually this is the time he would seek out Chan, but his friend is busy, said something about lessons to be taught, which Minho doesn’t get because lessons are for day time, and why does Chan need to learn anything anyway, he’s going to be Minho’s personal guard when they grow up!

He had complained about this very fact, and Chan had just laughed.

“Well, yeah, but to be your personal guard I need to know a lot of things! And anyway, it’s nothing big, my mom just talked about teaching me to chart the stars so that I’ll never lose my way.”

Minho had looked at him with wide eyes at that.

“Can she teach me too?”

Chan had smiled slightly. “Maybe, but I think the King would want you to learn from the very best.”

Minho had had to let it go and find ways to entertain himself after supper. He doesn’t have a lot of kids his own age to play with, they’re mostly the servants’ children, and he’s not really allowed to spend time with them. Chan is an exception because he’s going to be close to him when he grows up and they need to trust each other.

Minho’s still young, but he’s already tired of not having friends without there being an ulterior motive behind it.

To be a prince is to carry that burden, his mother always said, but I believe that one day you will find true comfort with someone without the weight of your heritage on your shoulders.

They’re big words for a twelve year old, and Minho doesn’t fully understand them. He wishes he could ask his mother, but he can’t. She’s dead, long gone, and it still hurts.

He comes across his father in the west wing, near the library. He’s trudging down the hallway, thoughts lost somewhere, when his father’s voice breaks him out of it. He stops, knowing his father isn’t happy when he gets interrupted, and means to turn around, when his own name stops him in his tracks. For a moment he thinks he’s been spotted, but then-

“And Minho? He’ll be devastated to lose his friend.”

“He’ll get over it,” his father’s voice sounds irritated and short, “his duty lies with the kingdom, and that includes the more brutal sides of it. He is twelve. It’s time he learns the brutality that comes with bearing the crown.”

Minho frowns, confused. Losing his friend? Duty? Brutality? He doesn’t understand what all of it means.

“Guards,” his father calls, and Minho hears the steps of armoured feet, “find the Bangs. Arrest them. Their treasonous days are over.”

“My King.” one of the guards says, and then the steps come Minho’s way. He gasps, looking around quickly, and then squeezes in between two potted plants, the vases tall and wide enough to cover him if he crouches. They pass, but Minho remains where he is.

“My King,” the advisor repeats as he and the King come closer as well, “are you certain?”

“The rebellion must be squashed,” his father says, just as they pass by where Minho is hiding, “and to do that we must cut off the head of the snake. It is… regrettable, but it is better than what the outcome will be should they not be stopped.”

They disappear further down the hallway, voices fading, and Minho sits there in silence for a long moment, heart racing in his chest. He’s trying to make sense of what he just heard, but all he can really understand is that Chan is in trouble. His family is in trouble, because Minho’s father believes they’re behind the rebellion.

Minho knows very little of it. He knows they’re responsible for his mother’s death, as well as the deaths of some of the King’s closest advisors, that they’re trying to spread misinformation about the royal family in an attempt to dethrone them. He doesn’t believe the rumors they’re spreading, but more than that, he refuses to believe that Chan’s family are behind it.

Having made up his mind, he gets to his feet and makes his way towards where Chan’s family is staying, running as quickly as he can while trying to act normal whenever he runs into someone. He can’t be too late, he won’t let anything happen to his friend. He refuses to let anything happen. Chan’s not a bad person, and his parents aren’t either. They’ve always been nice to Minho.

He thinks part of him just refuses to believe that they’ve had a sinister meaning behind their kindness this whole time.

He needs to-

“Minho?”

He comes to halt, whirling around. Chan looks at him, frowning in confusion.

“Chan,” he gasps, putting his hands on his knees while he tries to catch his breath, “oh thank the stars.”

“What’s going on?” Chan asks and steps closer, expression turning into concern, “is everything okay? Did something happen?”

“Where- where are your parents?” Minho asks, straightening up and gripping Chan’s sleeve, needing Chan to understand it’s urgent. “Where are they right now?”

“At home,” Chan says, frowning, “Minho, what’s-”

“We have to find them,” Minho says, already tugging him along, “something’s happening, my father, he-”

He cuts himself off, tugging impatiently on Chan’s wrist. “We have to hurry!”

Chan comes along, clearly still confused and worried, but at least he doesn’t try to hold Minho back or take the time to demand answers. He’s clearly fuelled by Minho’s urgency, and they run towards Chan’s family’s living quarters. Minho rounds the corner and immediately comes to a halt.

The guards are already there. The doors are thrown wide open, and he can hear loud, angry voices, as well as one more desperate.

Minho quickly backs up, dragging Chan with him, and peers around the corner again to watch.

“What’s going on?” Chan asks, voice frantic. “Minho?”

“Ssh!” Minho hisses, putting a hand over his mouth. “Quiet!”

As they watch, Chan’s parents are marched out through the door, their wrists shackled. Chan’s father looks roughed up, and his mother is weeping.

“This makes no sense,” his father snaps, “we’ve done nothing wrong! Where is the King? I demand to speak with him!”

“Keep moving,” one of the guards bark, “you’re under arrest. The King will speak with you in due time.”

They’re marched away, and Minho leans back against the wall, gasping, eyes wide. He looks at Chan, who looks just as wide-eyed, expression one of shock.

“Why- my family-” He stutters after a moment. “Why were they- arrested, why-”

Minho swallows hard, then takes Chan’s hand again, pulling him along.

“Come on. We have to go.”

They stumble down familiar hallways. Minho knows exactly what he has to do. From the way his father and the advisor were speaking, it wasn’t just Chan’s parents who would be arrested. Minho knows what happens to traitors, to those who go against the laws, and he won’t let that happen to Chan. He can’t let that happen to Chan.

Minho has explored this castle from top to bottom, and he knows exactly where to go to sneak by undetected, and exactly where to go to escape entirely. Down by the servants’ quarters, there are some loose floorboards that hide a dirt path. An escape route built ages ago, in case they would need to flee quickly. It leads all the way down to the edge of the city, and Minho hopes that they can get there without being discovered.

The servants’ quarters are bustling with activity, but it’s not the first time they’ve been here, so they’re not stopped by anyone, even though a few call after them. They like Chan, and Minho feels welcome by extension, even if they won’t always look him in the eye.

“Here,” Minho gasps out. They’re hidden like this, pressed into a small nook, and he kneels to pull at the floorboards. “You can get out here.”

“Minho!” Chan finally presses out. Minho looks up at him, to find him looking devastated, eyes wet with tears. “What’s happening? Why were my parents arrested? I can’t- I can’t leave, I have to-”

“Chan,” Minho tugs him down, holding onto his hands while they kneel at eye-level, “my father… I overheard him, I don’t think he wanted me to, but… your parents… he said they’re leading the rebellion. The one that killed my mother.”

Chan falls quiet, eyes wide, and Minho swallows hard. “You know what happens to… to traitors. To those who betray the Kingdom. I can’t let that happen to you. You have to go!”

“We can stop them,” Chan tries, desperate, “ you can stop them. Don’t let him do it!”

“I wish I could,” Minho chokes out, “but father, he… he doesn’t listen to me, and what if your parents-”

“Don’t,” Chan grits out, “ don’t say it. They’re not traitors!”

Minho swallows hard. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I didn’t think he would- I don’t know what else to do, Chan. I won’t let you get hurt!”

Chan sniffs, wiping his runny nose with his sleeve and shakes his head.

“I’ll go,” he says, “but I’m coming back. I’m not gonna let anything happen to my parents!”

He starts easing himself down, dropping onto the dirt path, and looks back up at Minho.

“I-”

“I won’t let them know where you’ve gone,” Minho says and lays down on his front, stretching out his arm to hold out his pinky. “I promise.”

Chan reaches up and hooks their pinkies together. “Okay. And I promise I’ll be back when it’s safe. Look after my parents for me?”

“I’ll try,” Minho nods, “I promise I’ll talk to my father, too.”

Chan smiles, fleeting. “Okay. You should go.”

Minho nods and pushes himself back up until he’s sitting, grabbing the floorboards to cover the exit. He imprints Chan’s face to memory until he has to put the last piece of wood back in place, and then gets to his feet quickly. He has to find his father. He has to make him see reason.

Minho can’t keep his promise. His father demands to know where Chan is because they can’t find him anywhere, and his father isn’t a fool. He knows Minho will have had something to do with his disappearance. Minho begs his father to reconsider, to let Chan’s parents go, that Chan is innocent as are they, but nothing works.

The last time he sees Chan’s parents is when they’re marched onto the gallows raised in the city square along with three other people and a noose is tied around their necks. He stays pressed against his father’s side, wishing he was anywhere but here. His father has an arm around his shoulders, but it’s more to keep him in place rather than a form for comfort.

“This is what it means to be King.” his father tells him as the executioner pulls the lever and the platforms are dropped from under their feet. Minho gasps and hides his face against his father’s side, eyes squeezed shut.

“When you’re older, you’ll understand.”

♔

Minho tugs on his collar as he sits stiffly on the throne. His back is going to ache something fierce after this. The King calls it building character, but Minho thinks of it more as a form for torture. He understands that he’s going to take over as King at some point, but it still feels years away.

It’s not like the King is going to drop dead this very evening. The man has proven himself stubborn as a mule.

He dredges forth a smile as a Lord’s steward steps up to the throne, giving a small nod as a sign to go on when the steward looks his way. The steward bows and unravels the scroll he’s carrying.

“Ahem. On behalf of Lord Byun of the Withersheld Woods, it is the Lord’s utmost wish to propose an alliance with the King Lee of Levanter.”

The steward pauses and looks up expectantly. Next to Minho his guard, Changbin, smothers a laugh by pretending to cough. Minho wants to reach over to smack him, but settles for smiling amicably at the man in front of him.

“Of course. Go on.”

Secretly, he thinks the King is doing this on purpose just so that he doesn’t have to be the one listening to outrageous demands from their surrounding vassal states and kingdoms. Minho wishes he could argue.

The steward starts droning on about a marriage proposal between Minho and Lord Byun’s very clever, extremely talented, devastatingly beautiful daughter. Minho wishes he was more interested, but he’s been sitting here listening to ten proposals similar to this one all morning, and his patience is starting to run out.

“I am certain Lord Byun’s daughter is lovely,” he says once the steward finishes, “we will, of course, consider this proposal thoroughly. My scribe here has written it down, and we will let you know our response as soon as possible.”

He motions a hand at Jeongin, sitting to his left, who at least looks like he’s dutifully writing it all down. Hopefully he hasn’t resorted to doodling, like he tends to do when he’s bored.

The steward bows deeply. “Thank you for your consideration, Prince Minho.”

The steward bows his way outside again, and the moment the doors shut Minho slouches in his seat and groans, covering his face with his hands.

“Are none of these proposals to your liking, my Prince?” Changbin teases. Minho throws him a glare and Changbin at least tries to school his face into something more serious.

Sometimes Minho does understand why the King is so exasperated with his attempts at diplomacy.

“They would be if they weren’t all desperate attempts at elevating status,” he sighs. “I don’t want to disappoint anyone, but surely they must all know it’s useless. I don’t want to agree to a marriage proposal when I haven’t even met this possible bride to be.”

“Which I understand,” Changbin replies, resting his arm over the back of the throne and leaning close, “I wouldn’t want to either, if it was me. Does it help to know I have to stand here the whole day listening to these outrageous proposals as well?”

“And me!” Jeongin pipes up.

“A little.” Minho admits.

Changbin snorts, then straightens his pose. “Come on. The quicker we get through this, the sooner we’ll be able to get out of here.”

Minho nods, smiling slightly, and waves for the door-warden to let the next person in. Before the warden can fully open the door, it’s pushed open from the outside, and a man marches inside. He’s carrying a heavy cloth-bundle in his arms, and his expression is one of fury and despair.

Minho sits up stiffly, and next to him Changbin’s pose shifts into one more defensive, hand falling to his sword-handle. Even Jeongin looks up, puzzled.

The man kneels down, placing his burden at Minho’s feet, and Minho realizes that what he had thought was a cloth bundle is in fact a person. Deathly pale, a smear of blood on one cheek, eyes staring unseeingly up at the ceiling.

Minho swallows hard, eyes darting up to the man. “What is the meaning of this?”

“This? This is the consequences of a failed rebellion ten years ago,” the man says. He motions a hand roughly at the dead body. “ This is the result of living in your Kingdom!”

“You are speaking to the Prince,” Changbin says, his tone warning, “I would be careful with what I say if I were you.”

Minho quickly holds a hand up.

“It’s alright, Changbin. Please,” he addresses the man, “explain. What happened?”

“They came last night,” the man says, hands shaking, “they wished for a place to stay, and for information. When they asked- they wanted to know everything I could tell them about the Kingdom, and the Royal family, and when I asked why, they… they said they would end what had begun ten years ago. They said it was time to complete what they had started.”

His voice trembles as well. “I refused. I told them to get off my property, and to never return. They seemed to understand, they said they would not hold anyone accountable for not wishing to follow their movement, but then-”

He chokes out a sob. “I woke up to my son dead. His throat slit. All because some people want your family dead!”

He points a finger at Minho, and Minho sits back, too stunned to respond.

The rebellion? It had been effectively squashed the day the King had hung the five people responsible for its beginning. The uprising had ceased to be. It had cropped up now and then over the years, but only as whispers, people too afraid to speak openly about it.

The day it had ended had officially been the day Minho’s old life had done so as well, replaced with this - him as the King’s puppet, with no close friends, no relationship to speak of other than the tentative friendship struck with a guard and a scribe.

Next to him, Changbin has stiffened, lips pressed together thinly.

“May I?” he asks, nodding at the body. The man nods slowly, and Changbin kneels down, carefully pulling down the cloth from around the body’s neck. There’s a line there, clean but clearly deep, and Changbin frowns.

“It is well done,” he says, voice clinical as he studies the cut, “this boy would have no time to scream.”

He glances up at Minho. “What would you like for us to do?”

Minho doesn’t know. He feels like he should be prepared for anything, but at this moment, all he wants to do is to be alone to process what in this world is happening. Still, he needs to step up. Everybody is looking up at him, expectant and, in the case of the father, devastated.

He swallows hard, rising to his feet. “Changbin, send one of the other guards to alert the King. Let him know I need to speak with him.”

Changbin nods, turning to wave over another guard, and Minho steps closer to the man, bowing his head.

“I am sorry for what has happened to your son. Please rest assured that we will find those responsible.”

He meets the man’s eyes, trying not to flinch.

The man looks at him for a long moment and then finally nods once. Minho returns it with one of his own.

“I will have the healers care for your son’s body, with your permission.”

“Very well,” the man says, voice thick with emotion, “he so dearly… Ah,”

He shakes his head. “Let not an old man tarry you with the tales of hopeful youth.”

“I would like to hear it,” Minho offers, trying for a small, hopefully comforting smile and praying it does not appear as a grimace, “but perhaps at a later date.”

The man nods, and Minho turns to Jeongin, who’s watching everything with wide eyes.

“Jeongin,” he calls, and the scribe jumps, quickly looking his way, “fetch the healers for me, tell them to bring a stretcher.”

“At once, Prince Minho!” he chirps and is out of his seat in a moment, disappearing through a set of doors.

When the healers have taken the body away with the father following, and once he has assured that the door-warden has turned away those possibly still waiting for an audience, Minho finally slumps in his seat, dragging a hand over his face.

“Shit.”

“Are you alright?”

He looks up at Changbin, whose face is drawn into seriousness, skin paler than usual. There’s something in his eyes Minho can’t quite place, but he has a feeling that same emotion is reflected in his own.

“I don’t think so,” he offers, musing, “would anyone be after hearing a rebellion is back on their doorstep ten years after it was supposedly taken down?”

“Do we truly know it is, though?” Changbin asks. His hand still hasn’t let go of his sword-handle, though his grip is more relaxed. “It could be nothing. A jest, though a deadly one.”

“Possibly,” Minho murmurs, “but I don’t think anyone would kill someone as a jest. That’s… macabre.”

Changbin nods and Minho sighs.

“I will speak with the Guard-Captain, make sure he ups the patrols and strengthens the defences.”

“And I will remain by your side,” Changbin says firmly and kneels at Minho’s feet, bowing his head. “Someone needs to look after you.”

“I appreciate it,” Minho replies with a smile, taking Changbin’s hands and urging him to rise. “I have faith in your capabilities as a guard, Changbin. Thank you.”

Changbin smiles, but before he can speak again they’re interrupted by the arrival of the King.

“Minho,” he says, “my office. Now.”

Minho stands, letting out a breath. “Of course, my King.”

It’s a silent march to the King’s office, which is off to the side of the throne room, just a short hallway’s walk away. He has to leave Changbin outside, but wishes he could keep him by his side. His guard brings him comfort, even just with his presence.

The King seats himself behind his desk, fingers steepled together as Minho pulls himself together and comes to stand before him.

“Explain,” the King says, a frown on his face, “what is this about a dead body and a rebellion?”

Minho recounts the tale of the father and the son, and the King remains silent for a few minutes, mulling his words over. Minho folds his hands behind his back, picking nervously at his nails - a bad habit he’s never been able to kick. It drives the King mad, but Minho finds comfort in it, even if it hurts if he picks too much at the cuticles.

Finally, the King shakes his head.

“It’s nothing. A scare tactic. The rebellion came to an end ten years ago, and none would be stupid enough to incite another.”

“Fa- My King,” Minho tries to appear as calm and collected as he can, “are you sure? Isn’t it worth looking into? If we dismiss it so easily, it will be easier for them to catch us unawares should it be a legitimate threat.”

The King looks less than pleased, but eventually gives a nod in acquiescence.

“I will speak with my advisors,” he says, “and see to it that the guards keep an eye out, just in case. But I wouldn’t worry too much, Minho. Should the rebellion truly be at our doorstep, I will end it as swiftly as I did last time. And with you by my side, they shouldn’t hope to stand a chance against us.”

He smiles thinly. “Is that not right?”

“Of course,” Minho replies, putting a fist to his chest and bowing his head, “I am, as ever, by your side, my King.”

“Good.” The King sits up. “You’re dismissed.”

Minho nods and turns towards the door.

“Oh, and Minho?” The King stops him just as he grips the handle. Minho looks over his shoulder, but he’s already focused on the papers in front of him.

“Make sure to keep your guard dog on a leash, will you? He’s prone to overreacting, even if the situation doesn’t call for it. I do not want to see him cause any trouble because of this, is that clear?”

Minho’s lip curls. The King has never been fond of Changbin and is all too happy to make it known, and it is only the unwavering loyalty that Changbin has shown since entering the Royal service three years ago, as well as Minho’s protests, that stops the King from dismissing him from the position.

“Changbin is protective, but he’s a good guard. I trust him with my life, father .”

“Hm.”

Minho’s shoulders hunch, but he forcibly relaxes them and pulls the door open, leaving the room and shutting the door behind himself. Changbin is waiting just outside, standing at attention, and tilts his head Minho’s way, smiling crookedly.

“I see the King still does not like me.”

“He’s always looking for a way to criticize something about me or those around me,” Minho scoffs, starting to walk back to the throne room. Changbin falls into step just behind him. “I’m just angry he takes it out on you. He does you a disservice.”

“Thank you, my Prince,” Changbin says, and Minho can hear the smile in his voice, “I don’t take his words to heart. I have your trust, and that’s what matters to me.”

Minho has to smile too, nodding, “I’m glad. I think I will retreat for a few hours until dinner, so you’re free to take some time to yourself as well.”

“Of course,” Changbin replies, “but I’ll walk you back first.”

Minho doesn’t protest. He’ll admit that the events from the throne room have rattled him. He doesn’t remember everything that had happened ten years ago, but he does remember how stressed his father had been, the fact that his life had been at risk, and that it had all ended in the disappearance of his best friend.

He’s not keen on a repeat of any of it.

Changbin leaves him by his door, another guard posted outside, and Minho heads over to one of the windows, peering outside. He can see most of the city from here, though smaller than it really is due to being so high up, and he leans his elbows on the sill. As so often before, he thinks about Chan.

Is he out there somewhere? Is he safe? Did he make a life for himself?

Minho hopes so. Any other option is impossible. Chan was always the stronger of the two of them, and more than once Minho wished he could explore the city freely to try and find even the smallest of signs he’s out there.

He sighs. The King means well, but sometimes…

Sometimes Minho really wishes he wasn’t the Prince of this god’s forsaken kingdom.

♔

It happens again.

And again.

Whispers of a rebellion. The death of livestock. The destruction of property. Hindering carriages of goods from travelling from the city and up to the castle.

The King is in meeting after meeting. Guard patrols are doubled, then tripled. Minho is strictly forbidden from going anywhere without a guard by his side, and while it doesn’t seem like the rebels are actively trying to get to them yet, the citizens certainly aren’t happy, demanding answers and receiving none.

Minho tries his best to reassure them, one after another, ensuring their losses are paid for, but he can only do so much before the King catches wind of what he’s doing and puts an end to it.

“It’s so frustrating,” Minho tells Changbin, pacing the library, “the citizens deserve compensation for their losses. I understand that my father doesn’t want me to be too involved, but I can’t sit around and do nothing.”

He falls into a chair and sighs, closing his eyes.

“You’re doing your best,” Changbin offers, “and I’m sure the citizens appreciate it.”

Minho shakes his head, clenching his jaw and looking out the window. The weather is nice, and usually he would try to go outside, but…

He mulls silently, pursing his lips and absently picking at a loose thread on his sleeve, the border frayed.

“Changbin?”

Changbin straightens. “My Prince?”

Minho hesitates, glancing towards the door, then motions at the chair next to his own. “Have a seat, please.”

Changbin looks surprised, but after a moment he takes a seat, crossing his legs. “Is something the matter, Prince Minho?”

Minho has long since given up on making Changbin talk to him in a more familiar manner, but it doesn’t feel as stiff as when the other staff address him, so he doesn’t really mind that Changbin keeps his titles.

“I just… can’t get it to make sense,” he says after another moment. “Last time, the rebellion went after the royal family, right?”

Changbin nods slightly. “They did. Your mother was unfortunately a casualty.”

Even now, the thought hurts. He tries to shake it, feeling like there’s something he’s missing without being able to put his finger on what exactly it might be.

“Right. So why are they hurting the citizens this time? Wouldn’t it be more likely for them to come directly for us again? I don’t understand why they would hurt those who are supposedly like them. Farmers, merchants. Innocents.”

Minho is a little frustrated. “And even then, they’re not actively hurting them in the long run. Aside from the man who lost his son, crops can be regrown. Livestock can be bred and re-populated. Is this just a beginning? Will it get worse over time? Is it just a message, a hint of what is to come?”

He sighs and rubs his temples. “I think about it over and over again, and yet I get no closer to an answer.”

Changbin is quiet for a minute, looking troubled.

“Have you discussed any of this with the King?”

“No,” Minho chuckles humorlessly. “If I did, he would dismiss it. He wants to protect us, and to do so he refuses to look into it too deeply. He’s afraid, I think. And so am I, if only because I don’t want to lose my remaining family. As bad a father as he may be, he is still my family.”

“And if he were to lose you because he did not look into things more than he is?” Changbin questions, and Minho quickly looks up. Changbin catches his look, and waves a hand, “rhetorically, that is. Would he think the same of you? You are his only remaining family, his heir. Surely he would do anything to protect you.”

“He would,” Minho replies, “and he is. He has taken the necessary steps to ensure I am safe. Yet I… I wish he would do more. If I could go out there and speak to the citizens, if perhaps I could somehow communicate with the rebels-”

“That is dangerous talk,” Changbin cuts him off, though he reaches over and places a comforting hand on Minho’s arm. “I understand where you’re coming from, my Prince, but I’m not sure it is a good idea. They might listen, but they might also run you through with a sword the moment they catch sight of you. No, it is safest if you remain as is.”

Minho sighs. “I suppose you’re right. I’m sorry for bothering you with all of this, Changbin.”

“It’s fine,” Changbin smiles, “it makes me happy to know you trust in me enough to share this with me. Things will be fine, my Prince. I know it.”

Minho nods. He can only hope he’s right.

Minho is in his room, unable to sleep. He stands by the windowsill once more, admiring the faint city lights and how they twinkle in the dark. The stars are bright and plentisome. He pushes the window open so that he can feel the cool night air, closing his eyes against the breeze.

It happens more and more often that he wakes, dreams and nightmares lingering one after the other, and he doesn’t know what to make of any of them. He dreams of his mother, and of Chan. Of his home burning, sometimes taking him with it.

It’s been a while since he last visited his mother’s crypt. He should go there, clear the dust and try to leave another bouquet of her favorite flowers. Chan would always find him there whenever he stayed too long. He thinks that if he went now, no one would come looking for him.

The faint sound of steel against leather catches his attention a moment too late.

He freezes as a blade comes to rest against his throat, eyes shooting open. He glances to his right and sees the reflection of a man behind himself, slightly shorter, but the cold press of steel is steady.

“Don’t move.” the man speaks, and Minho’s breath hitches.

“I will remove the blade and you will turn around slowly. Hands where I can see them.”

Minho swallows hard.

“Okay.” he whispers. A moment later the blade is removed, and he slowly raises his hands and turns around.

The man is wearing a hood and apart from his eyes it covers his face entirely. They’re dark brown, shining in the faint light of the candles Minho lit when he woke up.

“Prince Minho,” the man says and holds the dagger out, still pointing at Minho, “it is so good to finally meet you in person.”

“What do you want?” Minho asks, throat feeling dry. “How did you get in?”

“Ah,” the intruder seems to smile, eyes crinkling, “it’s funny you should ask. Your guards aren’t as loyal to you as they might seem.”

Minho doesn’t understand. “My guards are-”

“Not who you think they are,” the man interrupts, “you really aren’t as smart as I was led to believe.”

His heart is pounding in his chest. His hands feel clammy as a sickening realization makes itself known.

“Changbin.” he manages.

“He was so eager to prove himself,” the man tells him, seeming like he’s taking great enjoyment in throwing Minho’s life off its axis, “and he did so beautifully. You never suspected he wasn’t who he said he was, did you? Though I have heard rumors your father wasn’t so eager to have him as part of the guard.”

“No,” Minho shakes his head, “no, Changbin is loyal. He’s been by my side for three years and he’s never-”

“Changbin is loyal,” the man agrees, “but not to you. Not to your family. I’m sorry, Prince Minho. I’m sure it must come as a great shock to you.”

He doesn’t sound very apologetic. Minho is reeling.

“And who are you then?” he finally demands, suddenly angry. How dare this person break into the castle like this, threaten Minho’s life, and destroy everything he’s known with a handful of words? “What do you want with me? Have you come to kill me? Like how the rebellion took the life of my mother?!”

He’s nearly shouting by the end of it, and he knows that if the guards who were posted outside his room when he went to bed were still there, they would have come inside by now.

Nothing happens.

“I am merely someone who wishes to make a change,” the man says, “a viable one. A permanent one. Someone who makes promises that aren’t empty words coated in sugar. Something more than your family has ever done.”

“I-”

The door cracks open, and Minho’s heart cracks with it when he sees Changbin peer inside. Changbin meets his gaze briefly and his face betrays nothing. He looks away just as quickly, addressing the other man.

“We have to make this quick.”

The intruder nods, and before Minho can as much as open his mouth to yell, he steps forwards and cracks the handle of his dagger against his skull.

Minho collapses to the floor, vision swimming and pain radiating through his head.

“Are you sure about this?” Changbin’s voice comes, muffled as though Minho is suddenly underwater. His feet come into view, and Minho tries to turn his head to look.

“We have no choice.” the intruder replies, looking down at Minho.

Their eyes meet, and the nagging feeling of recognition in the back of his mind bursts to the forefront even as his vision finally goes dark.

“ Chan -”

♔

“Wake up.”

Rough shaking pulls Minho out of the fleeting images of a dream.

He hisses in pain. His brain feels like it’s rattling around in his skull, and the pressure behind his eyes hurts. He slowly opens his eyes, only to immediately shut them because the light of flames stings.

“We don’t have all day, your highness. Wake up.”

Minho groans and reaches up - or at least tries to. The pull around his wrists when he does immediately jars him more awake, and he blinks rapidly, tugging more.

“You won’t get out of that,” the voice says, laughter in their words, “but feel free to tear your skin trying.”

Minho immediately ceases his attempt, finally raising his gaze properly. He’s in what looks like a cell. The place is damp and dirty, only lit by torches set in sconces around the walls. There’s a sweet smell in the air, like fermenting grapes. A wine cellar?

Two more people stand by the stairs leading up and out of the room, but his focus is taken by the person crouched in front of him.

He’s handsome, is Minho’s first thought, hair plaited out of his face and eyes watchful, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Is this funny to you?” Minho grunts, attempting to sit up better. He must be sitting against some kind of support beam, the wood pressed uncomfortably against his back.

“A little,” the man admits, “it’s not often I have a Prince before me, looking like a bedraggled cat. How’s the head?”

“It aches,” Minho admits. He’s not sure about admitting weakness in front of these people, but maybe they’ll give him something that could help. “But it’s still attached to my shoulders.”

“For now.” the man hums, and Minho’s eyes widen in alarm.

The man takes notice, because he smiles again, though this time it’s less amused. He rises to his feet, and Minho realizes he’s a lot taller than expected.

He casts another look at the other two people, and they’re clearly watching and listening, but their expressions are unreadable. Looking back at the person in front of him, he steels himself.

“Do I not deserve to know the name of my captors, in the face of death?”

The man grins. “Do you not remember, Prince Minho? He said you recognized him.”

Minho is taken aback. Recognize who? What-

“Are you sure about this?”

“We have no choice.”

“Chan-”

Minho gasps, eyes going wide. No. No, it couldn’t have been. It was a mistake, brought on by the strike to his head.

The man in front of him crosses his arms. “I see you remember.”

“Where is he?” Minho asks, lips numb. “Chan. Where is he?”

“He’ll come find you eventually,” the man replies, “he’s a busy man.”

“And?” Minho spits out. “I think I deserve to take priority, considering he betrayed me after I saved his life - ah!”

The man reaches out lightning quick, gripping Minho’s hair and tugging his head back hard, shoving it against the support beam behind him. Minho groans, tears springing to his eyes. The man leans down over him, expression hardened.

“Be careful of how you choose to address him,” he warns, “because I won’t listen to you slandering him, Prince though you may be. You don’t know him.”

He lets go and Minho exhales shakily, letting his head loll forward. The two men by the stairs have straightened up, watching the situation carefully. One of them, with what looks to be blond hair, looks worried, while the other, hood covering his hair and drawn up close to his chin, looks more resigned.

“Changbin then?” Minho dares ask. “Is he too afraid to face me?”

The man in front of him purses his lips, clearly considering his words.

“Hyunjin,” the blond says, voice hesitant. His voice is surprisingly deep. “Shouldn’t we tell him? He deserves something.”

“He deserves nothing,” the other one scoffs, “you know what he’s done, Felix. What his family has done. He deserves to rot along with his mother.”

“You leave my mother out of your mouth!” Minho snaps before he can stop himself, angry enough to need to blink back tears. The man looks surprised, and Felix jumps at his outburst. “She was a good, kind Queen!”

The man remains quiet. Hyunjin shakes his head slightly.

“Changbin isn’t afraid to face you,” he says, “we thought it better that he wasn’t here when you woke up, considering last night’s events.”

Minho grits his teeth, fists clenching, tugging unconsciously against the rope.

“I want to see Chan.”

Hyunjin shakes his head again, walking out of the cell and shutting the door firmly. He pulls a chain up from around his neck, and Minho sees a key is attached, and he uses it to lock the door.

“You’ll see Chan when he wants to see you,” he says. “Don’t try anything stupid and we’ll bring you something to eat.”

He heads up the stairs past Felix and the third man, exiting the room. Minho stares them down, refusing to back off, and finally the third man scoffs and leaves as well.

“Come on, Lix.”

Felix hesitates for another moment, glancing up the stairs after them before looking back at Minho.

“We’ll be back soon.” he says, as though trying to be reassuring. Minho shrugs, looking down, and when he looks back up a few seconds later, Felix has gone as well.

He spends a long time looking around the room, committing every detail. He tugs on the ropes around his wrists, then tries to stand, searching out any possible weakness that might enable him to slip free. There is none, and it frustrates him.

He eventually winds up back to his starting position, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged. His arms feel a little numb, but he manages to rotate them and move them enough to avoid losing all feeling in them.

He still can’t believe everything that has happened. His mind is reeling.

It really was Chan in front of him. Minho thought that if they were to ever reunite, it would be happily, long-lost brothers embracing being back together after so long. Instead, it ended with betrayal and Chan kidnapping him. What for? What is the point of any of this?

Clearly these people are with the rebellion, and they seem to hold Chan in high regard. Is Chan the leader of the rebellion? Is he merely part of it, but has made a group for himself?

Maybe there was some truth to his father’s accusations against Chan’s parents, after all.

And Changbin… three long years, three years of warming up to each other, of confessing his worries and fears, of seeking reassurance and friendship, and it has all been used against him. He really thought he had a friend, despite Changbin’s reluctance to drop formalities. This whole time, he has reported everything back to Chan, to the rebellion.

Who else is involved? Which of Minho’s servants and guards were genuine, and which were there to turn on him? What about Jeongin, sweet and funny and savage all at once, following him with what Minho had thought was hero-worship? Is he, too, part of this?

He doesn’t know how many people in his vicinity have wanted to end his life. How can he ever trust anyone again, after this? If he even survives, it’s clear that most of them want his head on a pike. And for what? For his father’s crimes? For being born into a family that he didn’t even choose?

It’s not fair. It’s so unfair .

And yes, maybe he could have done more - done better - to sway his father, but would it even have helped? Would it make a difference?

Minho must fall into a doze, because when he’s drawn from his thoughts by a noise, one of the torches has gone out and Hyunjin is unlocking the cell door, another unfamiliar man behind him holding a tray.

Hyunjin pulls the door open, but stops there, looking down at him.

“If you promise not to make any sudden movements and not attempt to attack, I’ll untie your wrists so you can eat,” he says.

Minho frowns. “Fine.”

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, looking dubious, but enters properly and goes around the support beam. There's further pressure against his wrists, and then the rope falls away. Minho immediately pulls his arms in front of him again, wincing and trying to hold his wrists. They’re chafed, skin worn away, bleeding in places.

Hyunjin comes around to stand in front of him again.

“Can you use them?” he asks. Minho attempts to rotate them, and while it hurts, he nods. He doesn’t want to appear any weaker than he already is.

Hyunjin nods too. “Good. We’ll take care of them when you’re done eating.”

The other man kneels down, placing a tray down in front of Minho. It would be easy to headbutt him, get him off balance, but a glance towards Hyunjin finds him standing with crossed arms, a dagger held in one hand.

He doesn’t trust Minho, then.

That’s alright. Minho is already making plans. If he can get them to trust him over time, appear less dangerous than he is... Surely, Changbin has told them that Minho knows how to fight, but hopefully they don’t know that he can scheme even better.

He picks up the mug on the tray, taking a hesitant sniff. It doesn’t smell of anything.

“It isn’t poisoned.” the man in front of him offers. His voice is light, calm. “That would be against the point.”

“You can never be too sure.” Minho mumbles, sipping slowly and then waiting. Nothing happens, and he throws caution to the wind. If they want to kill him, they wouldn’t go through all this trouble by poisoning his food. He’s parched anyway, and he downs all of it eagerly, sighing when it’s empty and putting it down.

The food doesn’t look half bad. Some bread, some cheese and ham, some grapes. A nice, light meal that he won’t complain about. Maybe they expect him to, but he’s not so spoiled that he’ll turn his nose up at perfectly edible food.

He tucks in, keeping an eye on Hyunjin and the other man both. He’s not foolish enough to believe that Hyunjin is the only one armed and dangerous here, and he doesn’t want to be surprised by them for any reason. It’s almost disappointing when, having finished eating, the stranger grabs the tray and used utensils and leaves without a word.

Minho looks at Hyunjin, who tilts his head, but says nothing.

A few minutes of awkward silence later, the man returns, holding a cloth bundle and a bucket of what appears to be water. He kneels down in front of Minho and unravels the bundle to show medical supplies.

“Your wrists,” he says, holding a hand out. Minho hesitates, but finally holds his arm out for the man to take, studying his wrist. He grabs a towel and dips it into the water, then carefully starts cleaning Minho’s wrists, one after the other, before smearing a pungent paste that smells similarly to the one the healers back at the castle would put on his wounds whenever he got hurt playing and fighting.

It calms him somehow and he relaxes, letting the man finish. Soon enough, he’s winding a bandage around them, tying them expertly.

“Be careful with them.” he chides, wiping his hands on another towel and packing up. Minho wants to protest that he’s not the one at fault here, but bites his tongue. “I’ll come by to check them daily for as long as it’s needed. Try not to make it worse.”

Minho snorts.

“It’s not me you have to worry about.” he says, glancing towards Hyunjin, who rolls his eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’ve given them all a fair warning too.” Suddenly he looks more cheeky, grinning and baring a pair of sharp canines. “I’m Seungmin.”

“Minho.” Minho offers dumbly.

Seungmin laughs. “Well, I knew that , Prince Minho. But it’s nice to make your acquaintance, either way.”

“Seungmin,” Hyunjin says sharply, and the smile melts away. “Enough. Time to go.”

Minho tries to ignore the way it hurts - the sudden familiarity, the brief moment of kindness, put out in a flash.

Seungmin gathers everything and gets to his feet, waiting while Hyunjin comes to stand in front of Minho.

“Are you going to let me tie you back up without a fight?” he asks.

“I don’t know what you want me to answer,” Minho replies truthfully. “Do you expect me to fight? I’m sure all that’ll get me is a knife in the back.”

Hyunjin smiles.

“Maybe.” he agrees. “Hands behind your back.”

Minho hums, putting his arms behind his back, around the wooden pole, and Hyunjin moves swiftly. It takes mere moments before he’s tied back up, and he tugs on the ropes. The bandages help pad his wrists against the rope, which he’s grateful for. Hyunjin pulls on them too, to make sure they’re fastened well, and then ushers Seungmin out and locks the door behind them. Minho tracks the key, already trying to figure out how he’s going to take it.

♔

The days pass like that. Minho gets food twice a day and a bucket for when he needs to relieve himself, and it’s humiliating and infuriating all at once. Chan never comes to see him, no matter how much Minho asks, then demands for him to, and he doesn’t get to see Changbin either. Not because Changbin doesn’t want to, but the rebel group makes it very clear they’re refusing him entry for the time being.

He sees a lot of Hyunjin and Seungmin, as well as Felix and the one he’s told is Jisung. Seungmin makes good on his promise to check Minho’s wounds every day, and they heal well.

He’s losing his mind.

Minho wants to scream and shout and cry, a little. What is the point of this? Why capture him if all they’re going to do is let him rot in this cell? Is he being held as leverage against his father? There is no way the King will choose him over his Kingdom, but he doubts they’ll want to listen to him. Losing his wife wasn’t enough, so how is losing Minho going to help any?

He glowers at Hyunjin the next time he shows up, Jisung in tow. Jisung takes up his spot by the stairs, and Hyunjin unlocks the cell door, unphased by the glare.

“Sleep well?” he asks, voice cheery, and Minho scowls deeper, annoyed by the fake tone.

“Better than you, maybe. Does your conscience let you sleep at night?”

Hyunjin shrugs. “Sure it does.”

He puts the tray of food down and goes behind Minho to untie his hands. And maybe it’s the anger, the deep-seated root of fear, the restless sleep, the countless reasons he’s feeling jittery - but he ends up doing something very stupid and very brave all at once.

The moment the ties loosen around his wrists, he grabs onto Hyunjin’s hands to hold him still and slams his head back. It connects painfully with Hyunjin’s nose, and Hyunjin shouts, yanking his hands free.

Minho scrambles forward and then turns around. Hyunjin is on his back, cradling his bleeding nose, and Minho rushes to grab him and fumble for the keychain around his neck, yanking it loose and grabbing onto his dagger at the same time.

“Let go of him!” Jisung’s voice snaps from behind.

Minho quickly cranes his head to see Jisung stand in the doorway to the cell, sword pointed at him. He looks furious, but the moment Minho puts the dagger to Hyunjin’s neck, the anger turns into fear, eyes widening and sword-hand wavering.

Daring a glance down, Minho finds the same fear reflected in Hyunjin’s eyes, wide and teary, blood smeared across his fingers and down his cheeks. His nose is most likely broken, and Minho’s head throbs in sympathy.

He steels his resolve.

“You’re going to let me pass,” he says, reminding himself of his training. He is a Prince . He gets what he wants. “If you don’t, I’ll cut his throat.”

Jisung swallows hard, shaking his head. “You’re not going to get past everyone outside.”

“I have to try.” Minho replies.

“Jisung,” Hyunjin croaks.

Jisung swallows hard and takes a few steps back. Minho gets off Hyunjin and roughly tugs him to his feet.

“Get up.”

Hyunjin scrambles up  and Minho keeps him in front, one arm around his chest and the other keeping the dagger to his throat as best as he can. Hyunjin is taller than him, which makes the position awkward, but Minho knows how to make himself bigger than he truly is.

“I want to see you at all times,” he snaps at Jisung, “you go first, up the stairs, keep the door open for us. Yell and I really will hurt him.”

“Okay, okay,” Jisung replies quickly, holding his hands up, voice placating. “I will. Let me just put my sword away, okay?”

Minho nods once, and Jisung sheaths his sword before turning towards the stairs. Minho pushes Hyunjin into walking, and they climb the stairs as best as they can. He almost stops when they come out through the hatch and he can finally breathe fresh air again, but he catches himself.

They’re on a grassy patch of land. There’s no one in the immediate vicinity, but enough torches are lit to show that there are woodlands nearby, and that the cellar they’ve exited is rather remote, attached to a building. One of the wineries, then, with acres of land surrounding it.

Could be bad news, but at least Minho has some sense of where he is and how best to get home.

“Move.” he barks at Jisung.

“Look,” Jisung tries, turning to face him. “I’m sure we can figure something out. Let Hyunjin go, alright?”

“And lose the one upper hand I have?” Minho replies, even if he loathes having to do this. His only comfort is that they’ve deserved it. “I don’t think so. Not so tough now, are you?”

Jisung slowly nods and turns back around, and they begin to walk towards the woods.

“You’re making a mistake,” Hyunjin tries. It’s an attempt to play on Minho's conscience, but he can’t let that rule him when it’s his own life on the line, “this won’t help your cause at all, Prince Minho. Aren’t you just showing us that we’re right in our assumption of the Royal family?”

“Shut up,” Minho bites out, “you’d crucify me for doing whatever I can to be free from captivity? Wouldn’t you do the same?”

Hyunjin doesn’t reply.

“That’s what I thought,” Minho nudges him forward. “Keep going.”

He glances ahead.

Jisung is gone.

Minho jerks to an abrupt halt, tugging Hyunjin back as well. Fuck.

“Jisung!” he barks. “Get back here!”

There’s no reply. Now that Minho thinks about it, it’s weird that there were no more people around, that no one else was keeping an eye on the place he was being held captive.

“Is this some trick?” he asks Hyunjin while tightening his grip on the dagger.

“No trick,” Hyunjin replies quickly. Minho doesn’t believe him for a second. “I didn’t see where he went.”

“Fat chance,” Minho growls, looking around quickly. “Jisung! I’ll hurt him, I swear-”

“I’d much prefer if you let him go unharmed, Prince Minho.”

Minho freezes in place as something sharp presses against the back of his neck. This is just like the night he was captured.

Chan’s voice is just the same.

“Chan.”

“Hm. Let him go now, if you would.”

Minho clenches his teeth. Then lets out a sigh, deflating as he pulls his dagger away. Hyunjin quickly moves away from him, spinning around to face him and carefully cradling his nose.

“Turn around.”

He does and finally casts his eyes on Chan. The lighting isn’t great, but he can see enough. Chan has grown. Tall and handsome, all curly-haired still, but the playful glint in his eyes that Minho remembers so well is gone, snuffed out.

“If you plan to escape, you should really be more quiet,” Chan tells him, sheathing his own dagger. “We could hear you from a mile away.”

Minho realizes now that they’re not alone. He doesn’t recognize the people surrounding them, other than Jisung who’s now stepping out from between the trees and going right over to Hyunjin, taking him into his arms and urging him away from Minho, trying to get a look at his nose.

“Are you okay, Jisung, Hyunjin?” Chan asks, not looking away from Minho.

“No!” Hyunjin snaps, voice indignant. “He broke my nose!”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Jisung tries to soothe. “Come on, let’s go find Seungmin, he’ll get you right as rain again, you’ll see.”

They walk away, and Minho is left with Chan and the handful of rebels with him.

“Your dagger.” Chan holds his hand out. Minho closes his eyes briefly and hands it over. Chan hands it over to one of the others.

“Leave us.”

“Are you certain?” one of them asks, voice distinctly female, “he’s capable of more than we know.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m aware,” Chan says and offers her a smile. “It’s alright, Sana. He won’t hurt me.”

She looks like she doesn’t fully believe him, but nods once, clearly trusting him enough to believe in his decisions, and she motions at the rest, all of them dispersing in a moment.

Minho blinks, not sure he even saw them fully disappear, sliding into the shadows.

Chan tilts his head.

“Walk with me?”

“Wait,” Minho shakes his head, holding a hand up. “What? You’ve left me to rot in a damp cellar for days, and now you want us to take a stroll?”

Chan shrugs. “It’s as good an occasion as any, isn’t it? Frankly, I was just waiting for you to attempt to escape. Besides, I’ve been busy, and now I finally have some time to spend with you.”

“Yeah, because I’m sure you’ve just been dying to see me,” Minho rolls his eyes. “You couldn’t have sought me out properly? Why the hell did you kidnap me?! This won’t help your cause at all!”

“Careful,” Chan’s lighthearted tone disappears in a moment, “you’re still a prisoner here, Minho.”

Minho is so tired of being played like a puzzle piece. “Speak clearly!”

Chan tosses his head towards the path ahead. “Come.”

Minho wishes he could throw himself down and scream, but he knows better than to act as a frustrated toddler. Instead he grudgingly follows Chan, taking a few quick steps to be side by side with him. He knows that Chan is carrying at least two weapons, possibly more, so there is little he can do if Chan chooses to kill him here and now, but what choice does he have?

If he doesn’t follow Chan’s command, he will die no matter what. Better to listen and pay attention and stay alive a while longer. Perhaps there is some hope for him, somewhere.

Finally Chan speaks, hands folded behind his back.

“You know why I’m doing this, don’t you?” he asks.

“No,” Minho replies bluntly, “frankly, I don’t. Care to enlighten me?”

“Stubborn,” Chan murmurs, and there’s a hint of a smile there. Minho wants to smack it off his face. “You should know, deep down.”

“You lead them, right?” Minho replies, “I’ve understood that much, at least.”

“Mm.” Chan nods. “It wasn’t on purpose. You remember that day, all those years ago? When my parents were accused of leading the rebellion and were hung for it?”

“Like I could forget.” Minho says. He still has the occasional nightmare about it - about seeing Chan in their place, sometimes.

“Turns out it was true,” Chan sighs, “I was on my own for years. Had to learn to survive in the streets, taken in by people with less than stellar reputations. Eventually I found my way to the scraps the rebellion had become after the deaths of my parents and their co-leaders. Do you know what I found there?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me in just a moment.” Minho says dryly. Chan gives him a sharp look and he quickly looks away. “No. Go on.”

“I found people who still served a purpose,” Chan says after another moment of silence, “they saw my parents in me. They thought I could lead them back to greatness. That I could succeed where my parents did not.”

He chuckles. “I said they were mad. That there was no way. But their words… they reached somewhere inside me and held on tight. I couldn’t forget. I had to go back to them, and I began to believe it was true. We’ve come far, now. We have the final piece of the puzzle.”

He looks at Minho once more. “You.”

“Me? And what can I do?” Minho says, shaking his head. “I’m not going to betray my family, Chan. I haven’t seen you in years, I’ve been kidnapped and held locked up in a cellar for days, and you expect me to drop everything to help your rebellion? You’ve destroyed people’s livelihoods! You’ve killed someone, Chan! An innocent civilian!”

“Ah, yes,” Chan winces, “I know we went too far with that poor farmer’s son. A misjudgment.”

“A misjudgment,” Minho repeats, disbelieving. “Is that what you call it? Where will you go next? How many people will have to die for you to succeed in your cause?”

Chan stops abruptly and grabs Minho’s arm, spinning him around and then shoving him until his back hits the trunk of a tree.

“As many as it takes!”

Chan pants, grip tight around the collar of Minho’s shirt. Minho stares at him with wide eyes.

“As many as it takes,” he repeats, meeting Minho’s gaze steadily. “The King won’t step down so easily. Maybe not even under threat of the death of his own son, but I had to try. I’m taking him down, Minho, and you can’t stop me.”

“Then explain it to me,” Minho tries, a little desperate. “What has he done to deserve two rebellions? Why were your parents so eager to try and take him down? Tell me .”

Chan blinks, an expression of disbelief crossing his face.

“You really don’t know?”

“No,” Minho says, trying not to appear as embarrassed and confused as he feels. “I don’t.”

“I knew you lived a sheltered life, but really…” Chan shakes his head. “Fine. I’ll tell you.”

He takes a step back, running a hand through his hair and pushing it out of his face. It’s first now that Minho properly sees the scar down his cheek, passing just to the side of his left eye and ending near his jaw.

“Your father, the King, hasn’t been the nicest man around, to put it lightly. Taxing civilians, ensuring the best crops and wares reach the castle and city proper with little payment in return, pushing people out of their own land to take it for his own… did it never occur to you why the servants were reluctant to speak with you, Minho?”

Chan shakes his head, beginning to pace.

“A bad word against the Royal family is seen as a slight. Guards patrol the slums outside the city, ensuring no one goes against the King’s decree. People have died because they couldn’t afford food, because they tried to show those who live in the city what the King is doing. It only got worse once the first rebellion failed.”

“But you’ve been ruining crops,” Minho protests, “you’ve killed livestock. How is that any better?”

He’s honestly reeling a little from what Chan is telling him, and he needs to try and get some semblance of control over the situation again. This is too much. He knew that things weren’t great, but he never got the impression that they were this bad.

“They’ve been reimbursed,” Chan replies, stopping his pacing to face him, “and it’s not so bad, not in the way our actions have been twisted to be. The King is trying to push his own agenda, to make us look like bloodthirsty savages. Have you been told of how we’ve been trying to help educate those unfortunate enough to be unable to afford school? How we’ve attempted to establish better living quarters for those outside the city?”

Minho shakes his head slightly.

“No, I didn’t think so,” Chan smiles humorlessly. “A rebellion has been inevitable since your father took the throne. As a child your ignorance could be forgiven, but now you’re a grown man, Minho. Your duty lies with your people, not your father.”

“And what can I do?” Minho asks, throwing his arms out helplessly, “as long as he rules-”

He cuts himself off when Chan’s smile turns more pleased.

“No. No, Chan. I am not killing my own father.”

“I am not saying you will have to,” Chan replies calmly, “but that someone will.”

“He’s guarded-”

“Changbin was by your side for three years and none were the wiser. He won’t see it coming.”

“But with me kidnapped, security will-”

“We’ll find a way,” Chan snaps, patience clearly frayed. “You can’t stop it, Minho, so don’t bother trying.”

Minho swallows hard. “It’s my father, Chan. I can’t just let you kill him.”

“So you value his life over the countless people living in poverty because of his actions?” Chan is challenging him on purpose, part of Minho recognizes that much, but he can’t just sit around and let Chan do this without even trying to stop him.

“And what then?” Minho asks, hands clenched into fists. “I’m next in line if he dies.”

Chan tilts his head. “You are,” he agrees, considering. “And we’ve thought about it, but it all comes down to you. Will you be a better ruler than he is? Or will you fall into the same line of mistakes he has, dooming your people further?”

He steps closer again, but keeps a respectable distance. “I believe you won’t. I believe you know better.”

“You don’t know me.” Minho says, looking away and crossing his arms uncomfortably.

“I don’t,” Chan agrees, “but like I said; Changbin was by your side for three years. He’s told me quite a bit about you from that time. I have faith in your ability to tell right from wrong.”

Minho chews on his lip, torn. He doesn’t want to kill his father, but he also knows that if all of this is true something needs to happen.

“I need proof,” he finally says, “before I can do anything. I need to know, Chan. I can’t just trust your words like this, after so long.”

Chan’s expression turns displeased, before he reigns himself in and nods. “Very well. I’m not planning to let you go, anyway. You’re still a prisoner. But I can make sure you’re allowed out to see what’s going on around here, maybe talk to some of the others… you’ll learn in due time, Prince Minho.”

He smiles slightly. “Come on.”

Minho pushes away from the tree and follows him, a little indignant when they come to a stop before the entrance to the cellar.

“You’re putting me back down there?”

“For tonight,” Chan nods, “tomorrow I’ll see about another solution, but people won’t be trusting you considering you just attempted to escape. Go on.”

Minho sighs heavily, but descends the stairs and enters the cell, sitting down against the support beam.

Chan comes over and holds his hand out. “The key.”

Minho had hoped Chan wouldn’t realize he still had it, but he fishes it out of his pocket and hands it over without arguing. Chan steps back and shuts the cell door, locking it.

“You’re not gonna tie me up?” Minho asks, a little surprised.

“Do I need to?” Chan asks, smiling slightly.

Minho quickly shakes his head.

“Didn’t think so.” Chan pockets the key. “I’ll be back in the morning. Don’t do anything stupid in the meantime.”

“No promises.” Minho murmurs. If Chan hears him, he makes no notion of it, just exits up the stairs and shuts the hatch.

Minho tries to find a comfortable position. Now all he has to do is wait.

♔

The rest of the night must pass. Minho slips in and out of sleep, jarred awake every time he gets too comfortable. His mind won’t let him rest, replaying the night’s events over and over, causing his heart to beat anxiously, cold sweat across his forehead.

He finally rouses when someone knocks against the cell bars, looking up to find Seungmin there. The little hope that he might have struck up a sense of kinship with the man evaporates when he sees the displeased twist to Seungmin’s mouth, the tense way he holds himself.

“You’re a bold one,” Seungmin tells him, “did you think you could get away?”

“I had my hopes up.” Minho replies dryly, sitting up better. “Apparently no one else did.”

Seungmin shrugs, leaning against the bars.

“Are you going to attack me if I open the door?”

“No.” Minho replies. Seungmin doesn’t move, and Minho grits his teeth and takes a deep breath. “I promise I won’t.”

“Sure.” Seungmin says after another moment, tone betraying nothing. He fishes out a key and unlocks the door, lifting a bucket Minho didn’t see before and depositing it just inside. “There’s a rag here. Clean yourself as best as you can. Chan wants to see you.”

Minho looks down at himself. “Dressed like this?”

Seungmin snorts. “I’m sure you didn’t look much better last night.” he says.

Minho scowls, but finally goes over and tugs the bucket close. There’s a cloth inside, and he wrings it out and wipes his face to the best of his ability. The water feels amazing after so long of going without. He must smell absolutely rank, and he really wants a bath. Maybe he can ask for one if he is on his best behavior.

He tries to clean his hair up a bit as well, patting at his scalp, but it’s clear he’s not doing a great job based on the way Seungmin makes as though he wants to say something, cutting himself off every time.

“Can I help you?” Minho finally bites out when Seungmin sighs yet again. His patience is quickly running out, and he doesn’t want to hear anyone complain about him. It’s embarrassing, something akin to shame curling in his gut with how he feels, sitting like this.

“You’re missing a spot,” Seungmin says, “right there- no, to the left- You know what, just let me do it.”

He tugs the cell door open and steps inside, kneeling down in front of Minho and tugging the cloth out of his hand.

“Okay?” Minho says, confused and a little annoyed.

Seungmin snorts. “Oh, I’m sorry, your highness,” he says, “I thought you were used to people helping you with this.”

“At least they’re not usually so rude about it.” Minho mutters.

Seungmin smiles a little, ducking his head as he focuses on rinsing the cloth, and then shifting closer so that he can comfortably help clean the spot high on Minho’s cheek that he apparently missed.

“There we go.”

“Thank you.” Minho murmurs. He’s a little surprised that Seungmin is so open towards him. He’s cold sometimes, certainly, but he’s never been cruel. Never set out to intentionally make Minho feel worse about his situation than he already does. He seems to… if not respect who Minho is, then at least accept it.

“Sure.” Seungmin says after another moment, and drops the cloth back into the bucket. “Look, I’m sure things can work out somehow. I know you feel like we’re all savages, that we’re criminals and low-lifes, but we just want real change for once.”

“I don’t think that,” Minho says quickly. Seungmin raises his eyebrows.

“Well, not about all of you,” he has to amend. “Chan, maybe.”

“He’s got a… direct approach,” Seungmin says delicately. “But he’s not a bad guy. You were friends once, weren’t you?”

“Mm.” Minho hums. “Not that it’s done much good. He hates me.”

“He’ll come around,” Seungmin replies after a moment, “but you need to do the same. There is no scenario where this ends well if you don’t.”

“Yes, maybe.” Minho replies, unable to look at him.

Seungmin shakes his head and stands up abruptly.

“Come on, it’s time to go.”

Minho quickly scrambles to his feet, and Seungmin reaches for the bit of rope hooked to his belt.

“Sorry,” he says apologetically, unwinding it, “orders from Chan.”

“Sure.” Minho replies, resigned to his fate, and holds his hands out. Seungmin ties his wrists, but it’s not as tight as it has been since he got there. He might be able to get free of them if he tries hard enough, but if that’s on purpose then Seungmin says nothing about it.

He just motions Minho out in front of him, walking behind him up the stairs and outside.

In the sunlight the place is entirely different. Like this he can see the way the fields stretch seemingly endlessly, only the woods almost directly ahead of them offsetting it. It’s definitely a winery, the cellar they exit belonging to a rather large house. Whoever used to live here must have had some wealth to maintain its upkeep, but Minho doesn’t know what might have happened to them. More houses dot the surroundings, faint in the distance, so they have a lot of privacy here.

He can hear voices and when Seungmin brings him around to the front of the house, the yard in front has several people gathered there, chatting as they go about seemingly mundane tasks. It’s not at all what Minho expected. He had pictured heavy discussions on what to do next, plans of their next attack, everyone battle-ready.

What he gets is a woman drawing water from a well, while two other women are leading a horse pulling a wagon towards the dirt path leading away from the house. Two guys are talking amongst themselves, sat near the front doors.

All of them fall quiet when Seungmin and Minho appear. There is no warmth when they look at Minho, only suspicion, and he keeps his gaze low, making sure to follow Seungmin and trying not to let it get to him.

They walk inside and the first person Minho sees is Hyunjin. He’s got a bandage across his nose, purple bruising marring his face, and he winces inwardly, even if he is a little pleased that he managed to cause that much damage. Hopefully they’ve learned not to mess with him too badly.

Hyunjin, at least, gives him a wide berth, looking away from him as he steps outside.

“You did quite some damage,” Seungmin remarks and Minho shrugs, trying to be casual.

“He was in the way.”

“Mhm.” Seungmin smiles slightly, shaking his head. “Come on, through here.”

They walk through a set of double doors and suddenly Chan is in front of him. He’s seated at the head of a long table filled with food, though it’s clear others have been there, used plates and cups littering the table, empty chairs pushed haphazardly close to it, most of the food picked at.

“Minho,” he greets, looking up from whatever scroll he’s reading. “Have a seat.”

Minho sits a few chairs down from him, almost panicking when Seungmin heads for the doors again. He looks back over his shoulder, nodding slightly, and shuts them behind himself.

“Were you able to sleep some?” Chan asks and Minho looks at him to find him resting his chin in his hand, elbow braced against the table. The fingers of his other hand tap a disjointed rhythm against the wooden surface.

“Is that a joke?” Minho asks, unable to hold back the acidity in his tone. “Cut the crap and get to the point.”

“You make a lot of demands for a prisoner,” Chan says, brows furrowing slightly, “I didn’t expect that from you.”

Minho is about to explode. Chan is so infuriating .

He opens his mouth to say exactly that, but Chan beats him to it.

“Have you thought any more about what we talked about?”

“I meant what I said,” Minho replies after taking a moment to reign in his anger. “I need time to see for myself what is the truth and what is a lie. You can’t expect me to be on your side after my whole life has seemingly been upheaved overnight.”

“Of course,” Chan nods, though he looks… not disappointed, exactly, but not annoyed, either. Somewhere in between. Resigned?

“But we are on a time limit, so I suggest we start soon enough. We have much to discuss.”

“And you think all these lovely people will want to discuss a thing with me in the room?” Minho asks. He’s confused. “Just now they all looked like they wanted to push me down that well.”

“They certainly don’t trust you,” Chan says, “and neither do I, though my actions may show differently. But we don’t have the time to do this properly. We need to act before the King finds us. This country is only so big, Minho. Sooner or later he’ll have combed through it all.”

“You say that as though he’s looking for me.” Minho says after a moment.

Chan purses his lips and pushes the scroll he had been reading closer to him. Minho takes it as best he can, reading through the content swiftly.

A small spark of hope lights within him.

The scroll explains how the King is slowly broadening his search for his son, promising monetary reward to any who might have an idea of where he has been taken, and swift retribution towards those responsible. It also details where the search has started and which direction it’s going in, in a fairly described manner.

Minho frowns, brows furrowing.

How does the author of the scroll know? If they’re in league with Chan-

His eyes fall to the bottom of the scroll, the hastily lettered signature. Not a name, just initials.

I.N.

I.N? Who-

Minho slowly looks up at Chan, clenching the paper in his hands.

“You’ve dragged Jeongin into it as well, have you?”

“On the contrary,” Chan replies, taking the scroll back before Minho can ruin it beyond repair. “He came to us out of his own volition, two days after you were removed from the castle. Changbin snuck back in to collect some things, and he was there, waiting.”

“And now he’s, what? Some sort of informant?” Minho asks, trying to tamp down on his anger. “That’s dangerous. If the King finds out-”

“Jeongin has already been extensively questioned,” Chan says, the casual look on his face replaced by annoyance, “and the King’s guards weren’t gentle. It was enough to fuel his urgency to help us, and it would be foolish of us to interject. He works well, hidden in the open. With his help, we’re able to map how close to us the search leads, as well as the coming and going of those within the castle. He’s a sneaky little fox, your scribe.”

Minho swallows hard, looking away from him.

“Am I truly such an awful person that there is none in my home who won’t betray me?”

Chan’s chair scrapes against the wooden floor as he rises to his feet, coming around the table to sit down next to Minho instead.

“Minho.”

The lack of his title makes him raise his head. Chan’s expression is impossible to read, but his hand is gentle when it lands on Minho’s own.

“On the contrary. You’re not the one worthy of betrayal. It is a shame that it had to be this way, but it is not you the people hate. It is the King. Unfortunately, being his son, you’re put under the same scrutiny he is. Only action will change that, and we are giving you that choice.”

“Doesn’t seem like much of a choice,” Minho mutters, shaking his head and pulling his hands away. “What am I supposed to do, Chan? Both of us have changed, but only one of us is unrecognizable.”

Chan smiles.

“We may not have much time, but a lot can happen with just a few words, or a few actions. You just need to figure it out. Don’t force it. Show them - and me - what a good King is supposed to be.”

Minho shakes his head. It seems impossible. How is he even supposed to do that? And if he manages to convince Chan’s ragtag group that he has what it takes to be a good King, what then? That won’t actually make him King, unless his father steps down or dies. Chan seems pretty set on the latter, but Minho can’t let that happen. It’s his father , as much as the King tries to pretend he’s not.

“Eat.” Chan claps him on the shoulder and rises. “We’ll figure it out from there.”

He leaves the room.

Minho frowns at the door when it shuts behind him, then looks from the food to his tied hands and back, and scowls.

Once he has eaten, he waits where he is for someone to return. He doesn’t think it’ll fall into good graces if he’s caught trying to exit the room without anyone by his side.

He only has to wait about five minutes before Seungmin comes back into the room, Felix just behind him. When Minho looks at him in surprise, Felix just smiles sheepishly.

“Prince Minho. I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Minho replies, then sighs. “It’s fine, I suppose. I understand.”

Felix nods, scratching his nose. “I’m Felix. Chan tasked me and Seungmin to go with you for today.”

Minho just nods. “That’s fine. I’m at your mercy.”

Felix blinks, suddenly looking uncertain. “But we’re not gonna do anything bad-”

“It’s a figure of speech,” Seungmin reassures him and his expression clears.

Seungmin walks over to Minho. “Hands out.”

Minho holds them out and Seungmin unties him, putting the rope on the table.

“I trust you won’t be running away from us or attacking us, if I do this?”

“I won’t.” Minho replies, and he’s surprised to find he means it. He’s too tired to try and repeat last night’s disaster. Maybe if he asks nicely, they’ll let him go back to his cell and nap after lunchtime.

Seungmin regards him steadily for another few seconds before nodding. “Very well. Come on, there’s a lot to go through.”

They exit the building. The yard in front is clear of people now, but Minho can see some in the fields, clearly hard at work. They start heading down the dirt path leading away from the winery, and Minho tries committing as much of it to memory as he can. Just as a precaution, of course, but he doesn’t want to be caught off guard, should he need to make a run for it.

“So, we’re heading down towards the closest town,” Seungmin explains to him, “I don’t know if you’ve been out here before?”

Minho just shakes his head. “No. I’ve only seen it on maps.”

Seungmin nods. “That’s fine,” he replies, “as you undoubtedly know, the city and castle are the opposite way, through the woods. There is a small town that way as well, at the outskirts of the city, and we’ll take you there another time. For now, you’ll see where most of us are situated.”

“Who is part of your rebellion, exactly?” Minho asks, a little confused. “I thought you would be situated the other way, since most of your actions have been against the citizens and surrounding farms there. Not the townsfolk out here.”

“Just commoners,” Seungmin replies, “farmers, blacksmiths, shop owners… everyone who is considered less by the upper class. And, of course, people like Chan. Those part of the last rebellion and their children. Anyone who wants a change. We’re not a hidden, secret organization by any means, Prince Minho. We just take care of who we speak to about it.”

He seems to consider his words for a moment.

“We’re just trying to do what we can. And while we’ve done bad things in an attempt to gain attention, we always try to make up for it.”

“Like the murder of that farmer’s son?” Minho asks bitterly.

“It was a mistake,” Felix replies instantly, “we didn’t mean to go that far, but he threatened to rat us out. His family was loyal to the Royal Family, and we didn’t realize until it was too late. We had no other choice.”

Minho isn’t sure he buys it, but Felix looks upset enough that he leaves it be, just nodding slightly.

“We’ve tried to put out feelers, see if some of those near and in the city can be trusted,” Seungmin continues, “but it’s hard to tell. They live comfortably, of course they don’t want to risk losing that. Banishment or death, neither option is viable to them. And we’re running out of time. If we don’t act quickly enough, the King will eventually find us.”

“And you only spurred him on by taking me,” Minho says. “Look. I don’t understand. You were in the castle. Changbin was in his presence on numerous occasions. Why not just end it?”

Seungmin and Felix look at each other, communicating silently. Finally Felix shrugs and Seungmin sighs, motioning for him to go on.

“We were afraid,” Felix says bluntly. “Honestly… we didn’t have enough traction. If we were to kill the King, retribution would have been too swift for us to handle. We’d be found out somehow, ratted out maybe, not enough people trusted us… we’ve been trying to ensure that if there should be a fallout, we won’t be taken down with it. And we’re close, now.”

“Taking you was a means to an end,” Seungmin adds, and he looks a little sympathetic. “A bait to draw the King out of hiding, make him act recklessly. Now we’re just waiting.”

“You don’t know that it’ll work,” Minho points out. “Sure, he’s apparently searching for me, but knowing him that’s just a front. He doesn’t care about me.”

“He’s your father,” Seungmin argues, “some part of him must, if only so that he can ensure the throne doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

“Maybe.” Minho murmurs.

They fall quiet as they crest a hilltop. The town spreads out before them,all the way towards the mountainside opposite them. He can see people milling about, and with the sun and the fresh air, it seems picturesque.

He glances down at himself. He doesn’t look much like a Prince, filthy and gross as he is, clothes dirtied. Seungmin and Felix both look much cleaner than him, now that he actually looks, and he hesitates.

“Must I go there like this?”

They look towards him.

“You’re fine,” Felix dismisses, “you’ll fit right in.”

Minho doubts it.

The town is bustling with activity, but it’s clear that they’re not well off. Still, the children look happy and the adults look content with their lives, at least from an outwards glance. They recognize Felix and Seungmin, greeting them jovially, but they’re more suspicious of Minho.

He doesn’t know if they can tell who he is, neither of his… captors, if he can call them as such, say anything about it, but the townsfolk are unlikely to be assured by his presence.

“Mister Seungmin! Mister Felix!”

A gaggle of children are suddenly rushing them and Minho takes an automatic step back. Felix kneels down, grinning and holding his arms out for the closest child, lifting them up and swinging them around before putting them back on their feet.

“Eunji! Hello!”

“Who’s this?” the closest child asks, staring up at Minho. “They’re new?”

“A friend,” Seungmin says vaguely, “his name is Minho.”

“Minho?” the boy repeats, tilting his head and frowning. Seungmin just nods and Minho attempts a smile, but he’s fairly sure all he manages is a grimace, because the child makes a face and turns his attention to Seungmin instead, taking one of his hands in his own. “Mister Seungmin, you promised to teach me how to write my letters!”

“I did,” Seungmin agrees, “but not today, Chanwoo. Next time, okay? I promise.”

The boy, Chanwoo, frowns. “Fine,” he eventually relents.

Felix is being climbed by all the children, all of them talking at once, but he looks happy. Minho would personally be overwhelmed, and as it is he kind of wants to escape. They’re most likely nice, but far too loud speaking over each other.

Felix seems to notice, because he finally shoos them away with a laugh and a promise to play with them next time he comes around.

The children finally leave and Minho lets out a relieved breath.

“Sorry about that.” Felix says, smiling still. “They’re very excited.”

“They clearly like you,” Minho says with a shrug, though he’s curious. “You, uh, you really do teach them things, huh? Reading, writing?”

“Yeah,” Seungmin nods, “it’s the least we can do, after the Kingdom removed funding for schools. Apparently it’s not very important when they’re supposed to just be working the fields, or tailoring, or as future servants for the Royal family.”

And his tone is neutral, but his words are unkind, and Minho can’t meet his eyes.

“I didn’t realize.”

“And that’s the whole point,” Seungmin says. “You’ve been ignorant up until this point, purposefully or not, but what you choose to do with the knowledge is what matters. Just don’t use it as an excuse.”

Minho nods, looking around the town. “I won’t. Please, would you… show me around further?”

Seungmin and Felix glance at each other. Then Felix smiles, and Seungmin nods. “Of course. Come along.”

They return to the winery later that afternoon and Minho’s head is still reeling from all he’s seen and learned just today. The town hadn’t been large, but there were a lot of people, and he’d met a handful of them. And none of them had looked at him with trust, but some with pity, and that had stung more than anything.

Maybe they do realize who he is, and what has been out of his control, but they seem to know better than he that he has been ignorant of their suffering.

There is only one way to change that suffering, and the knowledge makes Minho want to be sick.

Felix leads him to a room inside the house. It’s got a single bed, and a basin for washing up, and it’s nicer than what Minho has seen for the last week.

“This is where you’ll be staying from now on,” Felix explains as Minho looks around in surprise, “Chan told me to say that if you act up he’s gonna put you back in the cellar, though.”

Minho snorts. “Of course he did.”

He looks at Felix and smiles slightly. “Thanks, though. For today, I mean… It sure was an eye opener.”

“Yeah, I’d imagine,” Felix laughs a little. “I hope you weren’t overloaded with impressions. I just think it’s important to start where it matters the most - with your subjects. This is part of your Kingdom, even if the King seems to have forgotten it.”

Minho nods a little, but hesitates before speaking. “But Felix… look. I hope all of you understand that even if I were to take the throne, change doesn’t happen overnight. There’s so much that has to be done first.”

“Of course, we get that,” Felix says, “but a change would happen eventually. And part of wanting to show you all of this is… I mean, we just have to make sure that there’s so much you don’t know, and that if you don’t learn of them you risk ending up in the same trap as your father. Change doesn’t happen with succession, but with knowledge.”

“You’re all so wise,” Minho says with a wan smile, “maybe I should just make all of you my advisors.”

“Jisung would have a field day if you did,” Felix says, grinning, before sighing. “I just hope you think about it. Really think about it. We could have kidnapped you, sent your father a note that either he steps down or we kill you, and called it a day, but we didn’t. Chan wanted it differently. He… really believes you can do this, you know?”

“Chan does?” Minho frowns. “He seems more fond of threatening me into doing what he says or else.”

“He’s… usually better with his motivational speeches,” Felix replies with a grimace, “he’s a bit weird with you, sorry about that.”

“I noticed.” Minho mutters. “I don’t get why, though.”

“Mm,” Felix raises his eyebrows, “sure you don’t.”

Minho squints at him and Felix suddenly looks innocent.

“Go on, wash up. There’s fresh clothes in the chest there. Come have dinner when you’re done.”

He leaves in a rush, shutting the door behind him, and Minho stares after him for a long moment, completely confused.

Washing up feels amazing. Minho wishes he could have a proper bath, but this works almost as well, though he has to change the water twice just to remove all the grime and sweat, emptying the whole pitcher sat next to the basin. While drying his hair he checks the chest by the bed, finding a white linen shirt and black pants. His shoes he’ll have to reuse, but that’s fine.

Unsure what to do with his old clothes, he puts them down by the door for the time being. Either he’ll throw them away or find a way to wash them, it doesn’t really matter.

The house is bustling with activity when he steps out. People are coming in and out, and there’s the unmistakable sound and smell of cooking. Entering the dining room from this morning, he finds three women sitting there.

He recognizes one of them as the one Chan called ‘Sana’ from the night before. All three of them look up when he appears, and awkwardly he fumbles with what to say or do.

“Hi.” he finally settles for.

“Hi,” one of them, with long, dark brown hair says, “you’re staying?”

“It seems so.” he replies, “if… if that’s okay.”

“It’s not up to us,” Sana replies, and her gaze is challenging, “you wouldn’t be staying if you hadn’t earned Chan’s trust.”

“Chan is biased, if you ask me,” the third woman mutters, hair braided down her back. Sana immediately nudges her.

“ Dahyun .” she hisses. Dahyun rubs her arm with a pout.

Minho’s mouth is dry, unable to say anything. Dahyun is right, she must be. Chan is biased, if they hadn’t been childhood friends then surely Chan would have left him to the wolves, right? Done what Felix had said, kept him in the cellar and threatened his death if the King didn’t comply.

“Don’t listen to her,” the second woman says, looking more sympathetic. “Chan wouldn’t accept you so easily, friends or not.”

“Jihyo is right,” Sana says, losing some of the fire, “don’t worry. As long as you don’t fuck up or ruin what we have, you’re good to stay.”

“I’m not calling you a Prince, though,” Dahyun says, and Minho finally dares to smile a little.

“That’s fine,” he says, awkwardly rubbing his neck, “it’s better if you don’t.”

They’re quiet for a minute before Jihyo grins crookedly, “I’m sure they’ll appreciate help in the kitchen.”

“Yeah,” Minho nods, “yeah, uhm… that sounds good. I’ll go check.”

He disappears through what he hopes is the kitchen door, relieved to find it is. There’s also a lot of people in there. Felix and Jisung are bickering about something by a kitchen sink, while Chan is sitting with Seungmin and an older man, discussing something over peeling potatoes. Hyunjin and two other guys are cooking something under the watchful eyes of a woman, who stands with her hands on her hips, looking exasperatedly amused by them.

No one really pays Minho much attention when he enters, which is new and maybe it should insult him, but all he can feel is relief. Unsure of what to do, he approaches Chan and Seungmin. The third man with them looks up when he does and smiles.

“Well, well. Prince Minho, isn’t it?”

“Just… Just Minho is fine,” Minho replies, and the man nods and holds his hand out.

“I’m Younghyun.”

Minho takes it to shake, and Younghyun motions for him to sit and then hands him a peeler and a potato. “Quick, before Jeongyeon comes our way.”

Minho glances towards the woman in the kitchen. “Her?”

Younghyun nods, “yes. She’s nice, but she doesn’t take any slacking off.”

Minho glances towards Chan, who just shrugs and hides his smile behind a cup, and hesitantly does his best. He tries not to feel inferior, but he sneaks quick glances at the others to see how they do it and then mimics them to the best of his abilities.

“Did you have an enlightening day?” Chan asks, and Minho nods, focused on his task.

“It was nice to see the town, and the people,” he says after a moment, “it sure does make you think. They… really like Seungmin and Felix, and I assume the rest of you, too.”

“We know them from years back,” Younghyun says, “we’ve earned their trust, and they ours. Coming together for the greater good does that to someone.”

Minho nods slowly, mulling it over. All of these people really do believe that unseating the King will be the better option. That there is no other choice. He’s inclined to agree, if only because he knows his father is as stubborn as a mule. He won’t change his ways, and now that Minho has caught just a glimpse of what it all means, he’s beginning to understand that if things continue the way it has been, his father’s rule will soon grow very, very small.

He doesn’t know if his father is aware of it. Most likely not.

“Hypothetically,” he begins, glancing up, “if I refused to do as you ask, what would happen?”

Chan and Younghyun glance at each other, and Seungmin frowns, looking displeased by him asking.

“We’d still go through with it,” Chan finally replies, glancing his way, “but finding a successor would be a pain, because we wouldn’t put you on the throne, knowing you sympathise with him to the point of seeing no issue with his continued reign. Your father would be executed and you would be put in exile.”

Minho is a little shocked that he’s so casual about it, and it must show, because he suddenly smiles wryly.

“We’ve had a lot of time to discuss it.”

“Yeah,” Minho clears his throat, “I understand. It’s just… weird to hear it. I… I understand your plight, to an extent. Maybe I won’t ever be able to get it the way you do, but… I am trying.”

“It’s all we can ask.” Seungmin says with a gentler expression. “With time, you will see.”

Minho nods. He just hopes they have enough time before his father either finds him or puts out a decree that ruins them all.

♔

Dinner is a loud event. Minho is seated between Felix and Seungmin, grateful for it, and he remains quiet as he watches everyone. There are about 15 people present in total, everybody chatting between themselves.

He loves it. It’s so far from what dinner is back in the castle. Sometimes it’s just him and his father, but most times Minho used to eat alone, occasionally with Jeongin and-or Changbin. This is completely different. They seem carefree at the moment, and he finds himself smiling without meaning to, drawn into their energy.

Speaking of Changbin, though…

He’s sitting by Chan’s side, head ducked low as he and Chan discuss something, and Minho has a feeling that he’s purposefully avoiding him. Well, Minho has a thing or two to say about that. As dinner comes to a close, Minho gets up along with everyone else, makes a beeline towards him, and grabs his sleeve.

“I need to talk to you.”

“I’m busy.” Changbin mumbles, looking away.

“He’s not busy,” Chan says helpfully. “Go on, Bin.”

Changbin glares at him, then sighs and stands, looking for all the world like he’s walking to his own grave. Minho leads him outside, hoping to get some privacy, sitting down on the edge of the well. After a moment Changbin joins him, some distance between them.

Minho tries to figure out how to start, but figures a direct approach is best. This was the closest thing to a friendship he had for three years. He deserves some closure.

“How long were you going to hide it from me?”

Changbin tenses, shoulders rising.

“For as long as it took.”

It’s not surprising, but it still hurts. “And this whole time… all of it was you pretending? All of it, lies? Deceit?”

Changbin sighs, shoulders slumping, and runs both hands through his hair, clearly frustrated.

“What do you want me to say? That no, most of it was genuine, that I enjoyed what friendship we had? Or that yes, all of it was lies, I was pretending from the moment I signed up until the day I let Chan into the castle?”

Changbin shakes his head. “Of course some of it was genuine. It was three years. I couldn’t have gone for that long without feeling something . You confided in me, and I felt awful breaking that trust. The way you looked at me that night…”

“Even knowing what my family has done to everyone here?” Minho asks, looking down at his hands, folding them in his lap, playing with the ring around one of his fingers. “Knowing that I’m to blame as well?”

“I got to know you in ways none of them have,” Changbin replies softly. “I’ve seen sides of you they haven’t. Of course I’ll feel differently from them. I’ve tried explaining it to them, but I could never bring myself to tell them some of the things you confided in me. Perhaps I should have, but I- well. I’m only one man, Prince Minho.”

He exhales, long and tired. “I convinced Chan that the time was right. That it was now or never. It was sooner than we had intended, but…”

His lips quirk slightly. “You were close to the truth. Do you remember, in the library?”

Minho nods. Of course he does. Changbin had seemed genuine, worried for him but listening to his concerns well. He remembers the way he had seemed so sure, talking about the rebels. It all makes sense now, in retrospect. Of course he had been certain, considering he grew up with them.

“You wanted to seek us out, speak with us. Listen to our concerns. I panicked, I’ll admit. Contacted Chan, explained to him what you had said. You were so certain your father would do anything to get you back, should something happen, and that is what we’re hoping for, now. His surrender, in return for giving you back whole and hale.”

“You think he’ll listen to your demands?” Minho asks, brows furrowed.

“We can hope.” Changbin says, crossing his arms, “if he doesn’t… you understand that we will need to act recklessly, don’t you? All of us know it, and are ready, should it come to it.”

“What will you do?” Minho wants to know, frowning.

“We storm the castle,” Changbin says, and it seems so apparent with how casually he says it, “several of us are trained enough in combat. There’s enough of us that we should be able to get to the King. We demand his surrender, and if he doesn’t give it, we will take it by force.”

“That sounds like a suicide mission,” Minho argues, getting to his feet and facing him, “you’ll be killed, or thrown into prison. Is that really something you would risk for the surrender of one man?”

“One man’s life for a whole Kingdom’s worth,” Changbin says, jaw set. “Is that not an odds you’d be willing to risk?”

Minho looks away.

“If not us, then someone else will,” Changbin says next, tone gentler, “there will always be dissent as long as he rules. We’re hoping there won’t be a bloodshed, but if it comes down to it, then so be it. You can help sway that in our favor.”

“That’s not fair,” Minho mutters, shaking his head, “you’re putting so much on my shoulders.”

“Because we must,” Changbin replies, “this is bigger than you, Prince Minho. Are the lives of the people you saw today worth less than yours? Your father thinks so. Do you agree with him? Is all of this for naught, because if we put you on the throne you’ll follow in his footsteps?”

He takes a deep breath. “I believe it is worth it. I’ve seen you, known you, for three long years. I know that even though it seems like the end of the world right now, you’ll make the right choice.”

Minho keeps quiet, staring ahead without really seeing as he mulls it over. He’s already sick and tired of having everyone expect him to change everything overnight. Unseating his father from the throne, become King, make everything better… do they not realize that’s almost impossible? That he has very little power, even in his own home. He’s Prince in title only, and the Royal advisors will refuse any bid for power he makes.

He thinks they’re all expecting too much from him. He doesn’t want to let them down, but he can’t see how he won’t.

Finally Changbin sighs and pats him on the shoulder and gets to his feet.

“Don’t overthink things, Prince Minho. There is still time yet.”

He walks away, back into the house, leaving Minho with his thoughts.

♔

He comes to the conclusion that he’ll do what he can to get to know these people. He wakes up with the realization that he has to do what they want - not that he feels forced to, but because he recognizes that if he doesn’t, things will end badly. This way he might have even the smallest chance of having some control of the outcome - and that the best way to do so is finding out who these people really are and what it is they seek.

He tries to make himself helpful, and they jump on the chance. They’re not cruel about it, but it’s clear they don’t expect for him to have much skill. He’s set to sweeping floors and washing clothes and cooking, and he tries his best, even if it leaves him vaguely frustrated because how does this give them any sort of chance to gain the upper hand? They’re on limited time, having kidnapped him, and yet they act like there’s nothing hanging over them at all.

If it’s a test, he doesn’t know if he passes. Sana and Younghyun both keep an eye on him, working him in the fields, and every night he sinks down by the table for supper, limbs aching and dirt in places he couldn’t imagine.

And it isn’t that they’re working him to the bone, or that they’re not doing their fair share themselves. All around him he sees people who are tired, but happy. People come and go as well, people from the towns, people who just want to live a happy life without the fear of taxes and imprisonment hanging over them, and Minho…

He learns to listen, he thinks. To worries he’s never known, to the smallest of joys over things that should be mundane, and it makes him… warm inside. Makes him smile, makes him want to join in. He imagines a life discussing the year’s harvest or why his best cow isn’t producing much milk at the moment, and it seems… well. Nice.

They take him into town a few times a week, to pick things up, to deliver items, and Chan slips away occasionally and comes back looking troubled, but hides it in favor of smiling at Felix or ruffling Jisung’s hair, and Minho aches somewhere deep inside.

He wants that. He wants someone to look at him like they genuinely like having him around, put an arm around his shoulders and stroke his hair and tell him he’s done a good job. He’s not jealous exactly, just… longing.

The week passes uneventfully, in as much as it can be called uneventful, and Minho feels more and more nervous and frustrated as literally nothing happens. He expected to be able to join the meetings he knows Chan has with the core members of the rebellion, but instead he feels sidelined. They don’t trust him, he realizes that, but if they want his help they’re going about it wrong.

Finally one day he collapses into his seat at lunch, tired and cranky due to lack of sleep, muscles he didn’t know he had aching. It’s less now than it had been, but still painfully present, and he’s not very happy. And so, when he sees Chan enter the room, tucking a slip of paper into his pocket, he immediately rises.

“May I have a word?”

Chan looks a little surprised, but nods slowly.

“Of course.” He sits down at the table and motions for Minho to do the same. “Go ahead.”

“In private.” Minho grits out.

Chan looks up, eyebrows raising. “I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t be shared with everyone else here.” he says.

He’s so infuriating. Minho wants to both smack him and kiss him.

That sudden thought makes him stumble, and he quickly looks away, almost afraid it might show somehow. He takes in whoever else is present - Jisung, Hyunjin, Felix, Seungmin and Changbin, and hesitates, but then nods, sitting down again.

“Sure.” he mutters.

He tries to ignore them in favor of looking to Chan for answers.

“How long are you going to keep me out of it?”

“Out of what?” Chan asks. It’s clear he’s faking ignorance, because he won’t quite meet Minho’s eye. “Please explain.”

Around them, it’s clear that the others are paying close attention to the conversation, even if they’re trying to pretend not to. Minho isn’t stupid. They’re doing what he would do.

“You asked me to help you,” Minho says, leaning forwards a little, “to throw away everything I know in order to help the common people. So why are you now trying to act like I’m just a farm boy? Why are you keeping me out of the meetings? I get that you don’t trust me, but I can’t help you properly if I don’t know exactly what is going on.”

Chan doesn’t look up from buttering his bread. Neither does he say anything, and Minho grits his teeth.

Finally he smacks a hand against the table. Felix and Jisung both jump, and Chan casts a sharp look his way.

“Answer me!” Minho snaps. “Is my aid worth so little? Was it all a lie? Some ploy to get me out of the way so you can do whatever the hell it is you’re doing when you disappear? I am throwing my life away for you . The least I deserve in return is some insight.”

Chan puts his bread and knife down, folding his hands. He purses his lips, glancing at the rest briefly before again focusing on Minho.

“You’re right,” he says finally, “you deserve to know some things. But just because we’ve come to an agreement, doesn’t mean you automatically gain the right to know everything that’s going on. We don’t fully trust you. How could we? For all we know, you’ll attempt to flee again, and if you succeed, then what?”

He sighs and Minho keeps his mouth shut, hiding his shaking hands in his lap.

“But I suppose it’s a risk we must take. We’re reliant on you, as much as some of us might hate it. You’re invaluable when we finally get to the point we need to.”

He leans his elbows on the table and leans forward slightly. “We’ll talk after lunch. Is that fair? I’ll explain.”

Minho nods slowly, even though the part of him that’s used to having all his whims pertained to wants to protest and whine like a child.

“Fine. You better.”

Chan nods and Minho sits back in his seat. He’s not very hungry.

Something moving into his line of sight makes him look up, meeting Seungmin’s slightly startled gaze before Seungmin smiles and shakes his hand a little. He’s holding a small basket of strawberries and Minho blinks in surprise.

“Where did you get those?”

“Across town,” Seungmin replies and smiles, “picked them from a field. Have some if you’d like.”

Minho nods slowly and takes two, staring at them slightly puzzled. Glancing up again, it is to see Hyunjin lovingly feed one to Jisung, and Seungmin looking slightly pained at the sight.

He eats one, the sweet flavor bursting on his tongue. Chancing a glance at Chan, he finds Chan watching the rest fondly, chin resting in his palm. He looks Minho’s way, fond expression faltering slightly. Minho feels a little guilty for his earlier annoyance and offers him the second strawberry.

“For me?” Chan says, a smile creeping back into place.

Minho shrugs, looking away. “If you’d like.”

“I would, thank you.” Chan accepts, popping it into his mouth, and Minho tries not to flush at the way the juice paints his lips red.

After lunch, he and Chan walk into Minho’s room. Minho sits down on the bed, and Chan sits down against the wall opposite him, by the door.

Minho just waits. He’s tired of asking for answers, and he likes the way Chan looks mildly uncomfortable, clearly trying to figure out what he’s going to say and do.

Finally he sighs. “Guess there’s no way around it.”

He scratches his cheek, giving Minho a wry smile. “I don’t think I’ll be able to give you the answers you’re looking for, Prince Minho. Like I said before, we don’t fully trust you, just like I suspect you don’t fully trust us. Our goal might be the same, but our approach will differ. You’re not prepared to do whatever it takes, and that’s why we can’t ever be sure you’ll follow through when the time comes.”

“I said I would,” Minho protests, even if it makes him a little uncomfortable. “I don’t go back on my word if I can help it.”

“I suppose I could believe that,” Chan says, but he doesn’t look convinced, “but there is so much that could go wrong, so much on the line, that we need more than that. You said you’re being run as a farmhand, and maybe that’s true, but it’s not just because we feel like it. It’s a judge of your character. You’ve done it all despite not being used to it, your hands have cracked and bled for the soil, and yet you’ve never complained. Can you imagine your father being willing to try it?”

“No.” Minho mumbles, staring down at his hands. It is true. It’s heavy work he’s not used to, and while he has callouses from sword-training, from calligraphy, they’ve not known the work of the fields. They’re marked from it, fingertips cracked, dried blood still visible where he keeps breaking the skin open when he’s not being careful.

His father would never in a million years try doing it.

“No,” Chan repeats, “but you have. If you’re willing to see the work your people do, if you’re willing to try it to know what it’s like… that’s a huge step in the right direction. I don’t expect you to do this every week when you become King, or even every month, but… it’s healthy to know what your people are doing for you. What it means, when you’re being brought fresh produce. Compensating them for their work, instead of just taking it and more.”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Minho says a little impatiently, “you don’t have to go on some sacrificial spiel. I get it.”

“Just making sure.” Chan replies, smiling slightly. “But this goes a long way in making people see that the one we’re trying to put on the throne is right for it, rather than a replica of the one before him. It will gain the trust of the townspeople, even if everyone here needs more.”

Minho mulls it over, nodding slowly. “I see.”

“Mm.” Chan pulls his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. “And you’re not missing much during the meetings. Just news of the King’s movements, where they might be looking for you, if they’re getting close. We’re trying to keep a step or two ahead in case they come this way, but… so far they’re limiting it to the city borders and the town around it.”

“Is… anybody getting hurt?” Minho asks, chewing on his lip. “Because of all of this?”

Chan hesitates briefly, unable to meet his gaze fully. “Not badly.”

Minho nods and swallows. “Okay. Alright.”

Chan gets to his feet suddenly, walking closer. “Can I sit?”

He motions at the bed, and Minho quickly scoots over. He sits down, resting his hands on his knees.

“You do get it, don’t you?” he asks, voice low and urgent. “What it is we’re trying to do. Does it make sense?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Minho nods quickly, “I do, I just… I understand that it’s important the King is dethroned, but… Chan, I don’t know if I’m the right person to take the throne in his stead. All these expectations… the way people will question everything, how his advisors will work against me, how I need to make things right without invoking the ire of those who have gained so much under his rule… How do you think the people in the city will react if I start changing things? Will I have another rebellion on my hands?”

There’s so much to think about, so many things to consider. Minho will go mad if he keeps overthinking things, he knows that, but what else can he do?

“It’s not going to be easy,” Chan agrees, “but… you won’t be alone. We’re not going to abandon you the moment you’re on the throne. And you’re the best option. You’re a Prince, Minho. You’re made for this, have been since you were born. If we were to pick someone else, who knows what they’d be like.”

“I suppose.” Minho grumbles. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Anytime,” Chan grins, before it fades a little. “Look. I’ll do my best to include you more, if I can. Fair deal?”

Minho nods and they shake on it.

Hopefully this isn’t a bad idea.

Ha.

♔

He tries to look at things in a new light. Considers everything Chan had told him, tries to figure out what he’s doing and who he’s doing it for. Doing it for his people is all and well, but what King will he be if he doesn’t do it for himself as well, a little? He won’t be happy if he’s just going through the motions trying to make everyone else happy.

An unhappy King is prone to make bad decisions. This much he knows.

It’s up to him what he chooses to do with his future.

He apologizes to Hyunjin for breaking his nose. It’s healing - slowly and a little crookedly, but healing all the same - and he looks a little embarrassed when Minho tells him he’s sorry.

“It’s alright,” he offers, touching his nose gingerly, “I would probably have done the same. We were being kinda shitty to you.”

“A little,” Minho agrees, but smiles, trying to show there’s no harm done. “Say… was it really you back then? Or…”

“Gods no,” Hyunjin scoffs, “I can’t fight for shit. Chan wanted me to play the role just to see how you’d react. When you had the knife to my throat I wanted to piss myself.”

“Sorry,” Minho says sheepishly and Hyunjin laughs.

“It’s fine! If anything I should be thanking you, Jisung’s been really affectionate since it happened, keeps hugging and kissing me and wanting to be with me all the time. It’s almost too much, but… yeah. It’s nice.”

He looks a little dreamy. It’s cute.

“That’s really nice,” Minho offers, even if he has no idea if it is. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you, Prince Minho,” Hyunjin beams, “that means a lot.”

His expression suddenly turns mischievous. “What about you?”

“Huh?” Minho blinks. “What about me?”

“Do you have affection for anyone?” Hyunjin asks, and it’s clear he expects Minho to have an answer. Minho panics for a moment, because the first person he thinks of when he thinks about affection is Chan , and that’s ridiculous. Stupid. Silly. Terrible. Chan kidnapped him and has been an ass ever since.

“No,” he says quickly, “no one. You know traditionally the King would pick a spouse for me.”

“Hm,” Hyunjin frowns, crossing his arms, “well. When you’re King, you can pick one for yourself, can’t you?”

“I suppose,” Minho replies, a little wary. “That’s true.”

“Good.” Hyunjin smiles, then bows. “See you around, Prince Minho.”

He walks away before Minho can get another word in, speeding towards Jisung and catching him by the arm, pulling him along and out of sight before Minho as much as manages to blink.

Jisung is a little less hostile towards him after that, which is nice. He still looks ready to knock Minho into the dirt, but at least as if he’ll do it a little more kindly.

Minho considers it a victory.

♔

He joins Seungmin and Felix for another jaunt into town, and this time they’re not afraid to introduce Minho to the children as a Prince. Some of them don’t seem to understand what that means, but some look at him with reverence, and some are definitely wary, like they’ve been told horrid stories about the Royal family.

He gets it. It still stings to see them draw away from him, unsure.

He takes note of how some of the children seem to have very old and worn clothing, how they’re dirtier than the others, how they smile with gaps in their teeth and look like they could do with a few more meals in them, and wonders.

“Are there orphaned children here?” he asks Felix when the children leave, bored again.

Felix nods. “Yes. People try to care for them, but… there are just too many of them. Their parents… some have died, some are arrested, some driven from the towns with no money to their name and no option but to leave their children behind. It’s cruel, but… I suppose it’s necessary.”

He frowns, then grimaces. “That sounds mean, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s… alright,” Minho replies, because what else can he say? He looks at the retreating children, and wonders what his father would say if he knew. Maybe he does know, and just doesn’t care. He thinks about Chan, orphaned because of his father, and thinks that these children really aren’t any different.

And maybe they’ll grow up to resent him, like those before them resent his father.

Or maybe Minho can do something about it, to change things, and turn the course of the future. Not now, no, but later.

When he’s King.

What a daunting thought.

♔

Time passes in a curious manner. Minho doesn’t feel as though he’s a Prince kidnapped by a rebel group that wants his father removed from the throne no matter the cost. Chan is a little kinder, telling him when they receive news from Jeongin, or rebels living closer to the castle, and it doesn’t seem as though his father has suspected where he really is.

Minho wants to send a letter to Jeongin, because he has questions he doesn’t think Chan will approve of, but he thinks better of it. If it’s discovered, he risks a lot more than Chan’s ire.

Speaking of Chan, he finds himself in discussion with him late in the night most evenings. He figured that it would be all business, but they somehow slip into reminiscing of their childhood, how they were taught sword-fighting together, how they snuck into the kitchens to steal pastries as if none of the cooks saw two children giggling loudly, and when they would lie awake late at night to look at the stars and picture what their lives would become.

It certainly wasn’t this.

But it’s nice. He gets to see Chan smile and laugh as he recalls, and it’s… it’s really nice. Minho wants to do this forever.

“Gods, yes, the guards were looking for us for over an hour,” Chan laughs, his ears red, as he recounts the time they hid behind the old stables, finding a nook in the wall, and watched the guards frantically search for them because they were supposed to be in tutoring. “I feel bad for them. We were menaces.”

“Eh,” Minho smiles, leaning back on his arms, “it was harmless. And it was fun. Wasn’t a whole lot of that otherwise.”

“Not for you, at least,” Chan says, his smile dimming to something more careful. “How… uhm, were things after I was gone?”

Minho hesitates, studying his face to see if he really wants to know. “Do you want the honest truth, or should I lie?”

“You know I hate when people lie,” Chan murmurs, looking down, “even if I’ve had to do an awful lot of it.”

“Mm.” Minho hums, laying down on his back and peering at a crack in the ceiling. “It was pretty miserable. You were my link to speaking to the servants, so it got… well. Pretty lonely. I felt so bad after everything that happened that I didn’t dare approach them more, act friendlier, and I regret that still. They’re not afraid of me, but I can tell they’re wary around me.”

He sighs. “Having Changbin arrive and get assigned as my personal guard was… like a breath of fresh air, you know? He was a bit awkward about it, but I eventually chipped down the barrier between us and it felt like I could speak to a friend sometimes. Jeongin too, he’s an easy-going guy.”

“Minho, I’m sorry.” Chan says softly, and when Minho glances his way he looks upset. “I’m sorry it came to this.”

“No,” Minho shakes his head, “don’t be. It’s not like I’ve had a hard life, despite how lonely the past ten years have been. All of this? It’s been a long time coming, it seems. I didn’t get it then, but I do now, even though I wish I still was that carefree little kid.”

“Don’t we all,” Chan says, smiling a little. “Everything was less scary then. We had responsibilities, but nothing like this.”

“Guess that’s what growing up means.” Minho muses, though he isn’t sure how he feels about it.

He glances at Chan once again to find him looking at him. Chan’s expression is… gentle. Maybe a bit fond, though he quickly looks away when he realizes he’s been caught, cheeks flushing.

“I guess so.” he says, and Minho hides a smile.

♔

They call a meeting the evening after, once almost everyone has gone home. It’s just Chan, Younghyun, Sana, Changbin, and surprisingly Minho. He didn’t expect to be asked to join.

Chan just gives him a crooked smile when he enters the living room after Changbin fetches him, and Minho smiles back, a little uncertain. This seems oddly formal, he thinks, as he takes a seat beside Changbin, with Sana opposite him.

“Alright,” Chan says once everyone is seated. “I know this has been a long time coming, but frankly I’ve been purposefully putting it off. It makes everything seem more real, and imminent. But it can’t be put off forever, because if we don’t do something, we’re going to be taken by surprise, and that’s the last thing we can afford.”

He clears his throat. “We need to make a plan of what to do. When and how.”

“Well,” Younghyun says, letting out a low whistle, “about time.”

Chan throws him a half-glare, and Younghyun smiles, holding his hands up.

“I’m just saying. But I think it should be up to Prince Minho, if we’re going to decide anything. It’s his father, after all, and he’s the one we rely on to get this down.”

Minho blinks, a little shocked when all of them turn their heads to look at him.

“Huh? Me? But I don’t…” He shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t know how…”

“Of course you do,” Changbin says easily. “Just tell us how quickly you’ll need it to happen, first of all. Everything else will fall into place.”

Minho chews on his lip, looking at Chan. His face is neutral, but he dips his chin, clearly waiting for Minho to make a choice.

And Minho knows they need to hurry up and just do it. That he’s just putting off the inevitable by playing at anything else.

“Okay,” He looks down, rubbing at a mark on the table with his fingertip, “then… a week from now. Will that give us sufficient time to prepare?”

Looking up, he finds Sana and Changbin looking at each other, silently communicating, before Sana nods, looking at him.

“That’s more than enough time.” she says, smiling kindly. “It’ll give us time to let everyone know and be ready for the repercussions.”

Minho nods, letting out a puff of air. “Okay. Good. That’s… that’s good.”

“As for the matter of how,” Chan says, drawing Minho’s gaze, “I think less is more. If we can avoid making a spectacle, that’ll be best.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Minho quickly agrees, feeling some of that heavy knot in his stomach unfold. “If it’s possible, I want to try and make him give up the throne willingly. I’m not… murdering him is off the table. I think he could listen to me, if I just have enough time.”

“So you’ll return to the castle,” Changbin says, leaning his cheek against his fist, elbow braced against the table, “say that you need to talk to the King. He’ll question you. Wonder how you got away, what happened. Where we are. He’ll probably want to send someone out to take us down immediately. He’ll be suspicious of you.”

“You seem to know an awful lot of what the King will do.” Minho grunts, a little annoyed.

“I’m just covering my bases,” Changbin replies, lips quirking, “I worked in that castle for three years, and I didn’t see him through the same rose-tinted windows you did. You learn a thing or two about men in power, Prince Minho.”

Minho nods, unable to meet his eyes fully.

“Right. Well, there are two options. Either, I go alone, say I escaped. You’ll have to rough me up a bit to make it believable, but it could work. He’ll want to see me immediately, so I could try to get him to surrender before he manages to question me much at all. Or, I take someone with me to really sell it, say I have a hostage, that I need to see the King immediately. That way I’ll have backup, and it’ll be easier to overpower him, but… it puts someone at unnecessary risk.”

He chews on his lip. “I think I should go alone.”

“I’d be more comfortable if you had someone with you,” Chan says, immediately frowning.

“And I’d be more comfortable knowing any of you weren’t at immediate risk of being executed.” Minho retorts. “I don’t want to put any of your lives at stake like that. I…”

He trails off, feeling a bit too vulnerable expressing how he truly feels.

“If that’s what you think is best, then we’ll do it your way,” Sana says. Minho looks up at her and she smiles, trying to be encouraging. “I trust in your decision, Prince Minho. As we all do.”

“Oh,” Minho says, a little overwhelmed. He kind of hopes she isn’t just saying that to be nice. “That’s… I appreciate that. Thank you.”

Sana nods, and next to her Younghyun does the same.

“Alright,” Chan sighs, clearly not that happy, but giving in nonetheless. “Then a week from now. Younghyun, can you make sure everyone is told? I want increased check-ups on the King’s movements as well, in case we need to push forward earlier than planned.”

Younghyun nods. “Of course.”

“Do you know what to say to him?” Chan asks Minho then, leaning forward a little.

“Sort of,” Minho says, trying to quash down his nerves, “but I think I’ll just have to… roll with the punches, so to speak. I can plan as much as I want, but he’s going to catch me off guard and make all of it a moot point, anyway. I just know I can’t let him get under my skin.”

“Alright,” Chan says, though he still looks a little troubled. “As long as you think you can handle it. I don’t feel comfortable letting you go alone, but… I’ll definitely be close.”

“So will I,” Changbin says immediately. “In case we’re needed.”

Minho nods, knowing there’s no use trying to dissuade them.

“That’s alright. Thank you. I… hope I can do good by you. All of you.”

“You already are,” Chan says, voice softer, and Minho tries to ignore the way something flutters in his chest at the sound of it.

“You already do.”

♔

Chan comes to find him after lunch one day, interrupting his chat with Younghyun and Sana. Minho glances up when Sana looks over his shoulder and smirks, turning around to find Chan standing there, looking like he’s ready to head out.

“Are you going somewhere?” Minho asks, curious.

Chan nods. “I am. And you’re coming with me. Sorry,” he adds, looking to Younghyun and Sana.

“You’re fine,” Sana waves him off, “just bring him back in one piece, will you?”

“Of course, of course.” Chan reassures, then gives Minho a smile. “Come along?”

“Sure.” Minho is a little confused, but offers both Younghyun and Sana an apologetic look. “We’ll continue later, right?”

“We will,” Younghyun agrees and winks, “have fun.”

Minho squints at him as he and Sana walk away, but his attention is quickly brought back to Chan when he clears his throat.

“I was thinking we could go for a ride,” Chan offers, “just to go out further. There’s a lot out here you haven’t seen yet.”

Minho is pleasantly surprised, so he nods and follows Chan around the house. The horses are usually busy, used for labor or for when they need to travel between the winery and the surrounding towns, but things have been quieter for the past few days, so now they’re tied out back, grazing on a patch of grass. Two of them are already saddled up, and Chan walks over and unties both of them, bringing them over to Minho.

“You’ve ridden before, I assume?”

“I have, yeah,” he says and offers his flat palm towards one of them, a brown mare with a star on her forehead. She nibbles at his palm, then snorts when she finds no treats. He smiles, reaching around to pet her neck.

He’s not really dressed up for riding, but it could be worse. Chan mounts effortlessly and Minho watches him settle comfortably in the saddle. He quickly does the same, and it’s been a while since he last went for a ride but it feels nice to be on horseback again. The mare shifts her position underneath him, getting used to his weight.

“What’s her name?” he asks, reaching down to pet her neck.

“Star, I think,” Chan says.

“Original.” Minho says dryly, but it suits her nonetheless.

Chan shrugs, patting the neck of his own horse. “This is Colt.”

“Named after… being a colt?” Minho says, puzzled.

Chan nods, holding his hands up. “Hey, I didn’t name them.”

“Oh please,” Minho snorts, “don’t think I don’t recall you wanting to name one of the foals in the stables ‘Socks’ because it had a white sock on one leg.”

“Hey, it fit!” Chan protests, laughing. “Socks is a perfectly good name for a horse.”

“Whatever you say.” Minho snorts, holding onto the reins and clicking his tongue, pressing his heels in to get her moving. Chan quickly catches up, and they take it slow.

Chan takes the lead, and they head away from the areas Minho has been in so far. They crest the hill, but instead of heading down towards the town, they ride along the ridge until they reach a forested area. If they kept following the forest around, Minho knows they would eventually find the path that leads through it and towards his home, but Chan doesn’t seem interested in that, insteading leading them away from it.

Like this… it’s nice. The sun shines through the canopy in little sunbeams, coloring the forest floor. The path is more animal tracks than human made, but Chan seems to know his way around.

“So why are we really out here?” Minho asks after a while. “I know you didn’t want to just go for a stroll.”

“Who says I can’t enjoy a normal ride, once in a while?” Chan calls back. “Sometimes it’s nice to just get away for a while.”

“Uh huh.” Minho isn’t convinced, but he’ll let it be for now.

Eventually he starts picking up on the sound of rushing water, at the same time as the path starts curving up. A river?

The sound gets louder and louder, and he starts spotting it through the trees as they begin to thin out. Not a river, but a waterfall.

They clear the treeline, and suddenly they’re up high on a cliffside. Just before them, water rushes past them and throws itself down the cliff. The rock is wet from the mist of it, and Chan dismounts and ties his horse to the nearest tree. Minho quickly follows, and then Chan moves forward, toward the waterfall.

“You’re not gonna push me down, are you?” Minho asks, reluctant to follow.

Chan glances back at him. “What? Of course not.”

He tilts his head, confused. “You don’t like heights?”

“I’m not fond of them.” Minho admits. “I’m fine back here, really.”

“Right,” Chan smacks his own forehead, “I forgot. I promise it’s safe.”

“Okay.” Minho agrees, but doesn’t move any closer. Chan sighs and comes back to join his side.

“We don’t have to go any closer. I just wanted to show you the sights.”

“The woods are really nice,” Minho offers, smiling slightly. “I enjoyed the ride here, if that helps.”

Chan nods, then reaches out and takes his hand, tugging him in the other direction and pulling him down to sit. Minho does so a bit reluctantly, pulling his knees up to his chest.

“Sometimes it’s nice to get away a little,” Chan offers eventually, “I mean, our work is important, what we’re building up to might change everything, but… by the stars it’s difficult.”

Minho is surprised to hear him open up like this. He didn’t think Chan would be comfortable enough to do so, he hasn’t been there for all that long, and yet…

“You shoulder a burden that isn’t yours alone,” he says, “you have good people with you who would like nothing more than to share it with you.”

“I suppose,” Chan mutters, “I just… ever since I was taken in as a child, I feel as though they have expected me to take up my parents’ mantle as leader of this rebellion and finish what they started. And I am terrified that I’ll fail.”

He drags a hand over his face. “So much falls and rests on my every move. One wrong decision, and everything crumbles. No matter how much I share it with them, in the end they look to me for the final say. It’s not what I want.”

“Then what is it you want?” Minho asks carefully, scared to ask the wrong thing.

Chan looks up at him, gaze almost scrutinizing. Minho struggles to hold it, looking down at his hands, fiddling with a stick.

“I want to live a carefree life,” Chan eventually admits, “one where my biggest concern is whether or not it’ll rain.”

Minho doesn’t know what to say. He can make that happen, if he sacrifices everything he’s known, but he can’t voice that aloud. How does he choose between his own life and Chan’s?

But it’s not just Chan’s, is it?

It’s something he’s been thinking about a lot lately, ever since he started being welcomed more and more by these people who should be nothing more than an enemy to his family.

They all have sacrificed so much, living a life of constant fighting for their needs, while he has lived a life of complacency. He knows it, but it’s still an impossible task to decide whether or not he should take that step to changing everything.

Deep down, he knows what is right. Deep down, he knows that the impossible task isn’t as impossible as it seems on the surface.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” he says at long last, “I don’t know what to say to make things right.”

“You do,” Chan replies, finally looking vulnerable. Looking desperate. “Minho, you can’t tell me that after all of this, you don’t know what you have to do? This is bigger than just you and me.”

“They won’t accept me,” Minho shakes his head, “I’m not their chosen Prince. If I dethrone the King, I won’t be the one replacing him. The council, his advisors-”

“They will have to choose between accepting you or suffering the King’s fate,” Chan argues, “that will be up to you. You are next in line, it’s the law. They can’t suddenly turn that around on you, just because they’re not happy. They’re as bad as he is, but they don’t want to let that show. And when you’re King, you can pick a new council.”

“ If I’m King,” Minho argues gently, “I could. But I would need them. I know a little about ruling, but they hold knowledge well beyond my years.”

Chan looks unhappy, mouth twisting. “That is your decision,” he says, “and I will support it.”

“You’ll support my position as King?” Minho repeats. “You’ll back me up, even when they try to oppose me?”

“Yes.” Chan looks up, and his expression is suddenly fierce, “I’ve worked for years to make a change. If I must defend it, then so be it.”

“Chan…” Minho swallows hard. He has to look away, he can’t bear seeing or hearing Chan dedicate himself to him. Not like this.

“After all this time… I pushed you to leave, I couldn’t protect your parents, I-”

“None of that was on you,” Chan interrupts. “If you hadn’t urged me to leave, the King would have had me hanged along with them. You were a child, as much as I was. None could protect my parents when the King had already decided the rebellion had to be put to an end.”

He sighs and rests his head against the tree trunk. “I bore anger for years, but over time I started understanding that the world is cruel, but we don’t necessarily have to make it worse. We choose how we interpret what happens to us, and what we do about it. I chose to rid myself of that anger - or at the very least, displace it somewhere more deserved.”

He smiles, glancing Minho’s way. “Why aim my anger towards you when there are others who deserve it more? I know I haven’t shown it well, what with… kidnapping you, and everything after that, but… half the time, the things I do are out of desperation.”

“Not the best way to act when you’re leading a rebellion.” Minho says, chuckling.

Chan grins crookedly, shrugging. “Probably not.”

They fall into silence for a while. Minho considers everything he has been told, the way he has been treated these past few days. He’s loath to admit it, but the possibility of real friendship and companionship does more for him than most other things have, since being taken. Perhaps that is silly, but he has realized that, more than anything, he is driven by his loneliness. He doesn’t want to go back to that.

Chan doesn’t push him, either, just picks at the grass and fallen pine needles, humming quietly under his breath.

“I know what I have to do,” Minho admits eventually, “and it hurts. I don’t think I can kill my own father, Chan.”

“I would do it for you.” Chan says, looking up. “All you have to do is ask.”

“I know,” Minho replies, and he does. He doesn’t doubt Chan’s dedication to the cause. “But I don’t think I can bear his death. My mother is already dead because of this rebellion, and to lose my father… yes, perhaps it isn’t fair since many of you have lost both your parents, perhaps whole families, to this, but I… I want to avoid it, if possible. And if that makes me selfish, then, well.”

He smiles slightly. “I want to be selfish this once, if possible.”

Chan regards him steadily.

“Do you have a plan?”

Minho nods. “Yes. Sort of. I just need to get close to him. In three days, I will demand his abdication and take his place. I need to write down his list of crimes, have them signed, and ensure I won’t take no for an answer when the time comes. It’s time to end this, too much time has passed already.”

“Do you think he’ll listen?” Chan looks dubious. “He’s not the type.”

“No,” Minho bites his lip, “I won’t give him a choice. It is that… or death.”

Chan lets out a breath. “Alright. In three days, then. Let me know what I can do.”

Minho nods. He hopes he’s doing the right thing.

They ride back when the sun starts to set. The sunrays bathe the forest in orange, and Minho almost wishes this could be his life from now on. No responsibilities, no court, no duties other than toiling in the fields. He could learn, he thinks. He could find happiness here.

But he can’t. He knows his duty, and he must keep to it.

“Wait a moment.” he tells Chan when they reach the ridge of the hill, looking down on the winery.

Chan halts his horse and looks at him, questioning.

“We’ll go back soon,” Minho promises. “I just want another moment of this. It’s not often I do this.”

Chan nods in understanding. “Of course. Whenever you’re ready.”

Minho looks across the fields, then the forest. He can just barely see the hint of the castle beyond, if he squints, and he knows he has to go back soon. He just… doesn’t want to.

He looks at Chan next, and Chan meets his eyes.

“I’m glad we met again.” he confesses softly. “Despite the circumstances… I never forgot you. I always wanted to see you again. And I know you probably didn’t feel the same, but… in my heart, there was always an empty space ready to be filled once I did.”

“Are you confessing your love for me, Prince Minho?” Chan teases, unable to fully hide a smile.

“Just Minho, please,” Minho says, and his tone comes forth more earnestly than he means for it to, based on the way Chan’s teasing expression turns into one of surprise, then understanding.

“Of course,” he agrees softly. “Minho.”

Minho smiles, turning to look back at the winery. He startles a little when something touches his hand, and he quickly looks down to see Chan’s pinky finger hooked with his in a loose hold. Looking up, he finds Chan looking at him. With the setting sun, it’s hard to tell, but he thinks Chan is blushing.

“When I was little,” Chan begins, tearing his eyes away, “I always had this… grand idea that when we grew up and you became King, I might become your consort. A silly idea, but it was always so obvious to me that I would forever be by your side. Your personal guard, yes, but also… It was foolish of me. I was little more than a commoner, and you-”

“Would have loved to have you by my side in such a manner,” Minho interrupts gently, “commoner or no, you were still my closest friend, the only one I could fully trust. I loved you dearly, and with time I could love you more than that.”

“And now?” Chan asks, squaring his jaw.

“We barely know each other,” Minho says, not wanting to reject him, “and half the time you’ve been absolutely infuriating.”

He laughs quietly. “But I’ve realized none of the love I held for you has gone away. I think if I’m given enough time, I could… I could love you in the way I want to. I look at you, and I… my heart leaps in my chest. I feel warm inside. I want to reach out and hold you. Is that love?”

“It could be.” Chan replies, ducking his head, “I want it to be.”

Minho nods a little.

“When this is over, I want you by my side. I know you said you want a simpler life, and you can have that, but I… I’ve lost you once already, and getting you back has been a pain in the ass. I don’t want to have to do that again.”

“You won’t have to,” Chan takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders, determination clear. “I won’t be leaving you again.”

Minho smiles, taking his hand more fully and squeezing it gently.

“Thank you, Chan. I owe you more than you know.”

Chan shakes his head, reaching up to Minho’s cheek and cupping it, before brushing some strands of hair behind his ear. “And I you, Minho. After this, I am indebted.”

“No.” Minho replies firmly. “I won’t have any of you with me out of obligation. You owe me nothing.”

Chan regards him for a long moment and Minho meets his eyes without flinching. He hopes Chan will find what he seeks. After a moment, he nods.

“Okay.”

♔

It ends.

Minho had hopes that he might be able to put off the inevitable, but as it turns out, the inevitable finds him first.

He’s torn from sleep by someone screaming, and immediately the scent of burning wood fills his nose.

“What-”

“ Everybody up! ” Chan’s voice roars, something clattering as multiple people move at once. “We’re under attack!”

Minho rolls out of bed. It glows orange, light flickering from outside, and as he pulls his pants on in a hurry, he sees flames outside, licking across the field towards them. He quickly shrugs on a shirt and then steps into his boots as he stumbles out of the room. People are running, but he manages to snatch Seungmin by the wrist.

“What’s happening?” he asks, letting momentum tug him along in the direction Seungmin is going - towards the front door.

“The King is here,” Seungmin replies hurriedly, taking the time to send him a look. “Or at least his men are. They’ve found us.”

Minho almost falters. They haven’t been the most hidden, but somehow, he never expected this day to come. He had thought they would have the upper hand, seek him out, but this-

Seungmin drags him outside before he stops completely. The clash of metal on metal is loud, and Minho turns his head just in time to see Changbin fending off a soldier, buying Jihyo and Nayeon time to escape.

“Everybody run!” Chan shouts and Minho finally sees him, sword in one hand and throwing a dagger with the other, taking down another soldier. “Help everyone get away!”

“Chan!” Minho makes to rush towards him, but Seungmin grabs him about the waist and physically hauls him the other way, around the back of the building.

“No! This isn’t the time! We have to-”

The soldiers rush into the house, and he doesn’t know how many have managed to get out, if they have time to warn those staying in town or if that’s already too late.

“Seungmin, stop!”

Seungmin ignores him, keeps pulling on his arm, and Minho digs his heels in.

“Stop! Listen to me!”

He whirls around, a wild expression on his face. “There’s no time to stop!”

“No, listen to me,” Minho grabs him by the shoulders, “I have to see if I can find my father. If he’s here, I can stop him before this turns into a slaughter-”

Someone screams and they both turn to look. Further out in the field, someone is crumpled on the ground. In the flickering light of the fire, they see Jisung stand over them, brandishing an axe, facing another soldier. It must be Hyunjin at his feet, then, though Minho isn’t sure, but they would never run without the other by their side.

“Please,” Minho grabs him again, making Seungmin face him, and shakes him a little by the shoulders. “I have to find him. You go - get out, get away from here.”

Seungmin wants to hesitate, that much is clear, but there’s no time. A soldier bellows, loud and clear.

“It’s him! Prince Minho!”

Minho pushes Seungmin away. “Go!”

“Fuck,” Seungmin spits, stumbling away, “be safe.”

Minho nods, watching him sprint off, before turning to the soldier that has spotted him and holding his hands up.

“Please! Is the King here? I must speak with him!”

“Prince Minho,” the soldier is quickly by his side, “you are safe! These savages haven’t hurt you?”

“No, I’m okay,” Minho replies quickly, even though he wants to scream, “please, take me to my father. Don’t- don’t kill anyone, please, don’t do it.”

“The King is this way,” the soldier says, motioning, and grabs his wrist with the hand that isn’t holding a sword, “come, I’ll keep you safe.”

Minho stumbles after him, trying to look towards the house, but the fire is too bright, the smoke too thick, the loud sounds of fighting and shouting overpowering everything else. He can’t see Chan or Changbin, can’t see Sana or Younghyun, or Jisung or Hyunjin. No sign of Felix or Mina, or anyone else he knows. Just light and shadow and noise.

He’s pulled into the forest, the sounds fading, distant and indistinguishable.

And suddenly he’s there. His father, the King. Mounted atop a horse, looking for all the world like he isn’t slaughtering Minho’s friends in a perverse sense of justice.

“My King! I have your son!”

“Minho!” His father dismounts, stepping towards him. “My son. You are safe.”

“My King,” Minho chokes out, “Please, you must stop this. They haven’t hurt me, they don’t need to be killed.”

“Ah,” the King sighs and shakes his head, “I suspected they might twist your mind. They are guilty of kidnapping, rebelling against the throne, and killing innocent civilians, among other things. Of course they must die.”

“No,” Minho moans, feeling sick, “please, stop this.”

He stumbles forward, grasping the front of his father’s cloak and looking up at him with desperation. “If there’s one ounce of love for me in your heart, father, then you stop this. Please .”

His father, the King, tall and proud, looks upon him, and Minho sees no love at all.

“General,” he says, “you know what you must do.”

“Of course, my King.”

The General’s voice comes from behind, but before Minho can turn around to see what he’s doing, something strikes the back of his head viciously.

Minho gasps, falling against his father’s chest, losing his grip on his cloak. His father catches him in his arms, pulling him tight to his chest as his vision blurs.

“Of course I love you, my son,” he says, voice soft, “and it is for that reason I do what I must to keep you safe.”

“No,” Minho chokes out, losing the strength in his legs, “no.”

He’s hoisted up, into a set of arms and then onto his father’s horse. He tries to look, but is hit by such vertigo that he faints, collapsing into his father’s arms yet again.

His father holds him, passing a soothing hand through his hair. “One day, Minho, you will understand.”

♔

His head hurts. It is the first sensation that filters through the thick haze of sleep. Minho groans, rolling over and smushing his head into the pillow. He raises a hand to rub his head, wincing when he presses against a bump at the back of his head.

What? How did that happen?

He squints an eye open, seeing that he’s in his room in the castle. It is raining heavily outside, lashing against the windows, but he’s tucked safely into his warm bed. He pushes himself up to sit and his head throbs in protest.

How did he hurt himself? Did he hit his head against something?

He reaches up to rub his head again, sticking his feet into the slippers before his bed and standing up. Walking over to one of the windows, he can ever so faintly see his own reflection, a hint of his eyes and a flash of brown hair. He absently rubs his throat, then tenses all over.

Suddenly he feels as though something comes from behind, cold metal pressing against his throat-

He spins around, but there’s nothing there. How? What happened? Why does he-

He gasps, eyes going wide. Chan. The winery. The rebels. The fire.

The King, refusing to listen.

Minho chokes out a groan, slipping down to his knees. No. It cannot be. Are his friends dead? Is Chan-

He scrambles to his feet, rushing over to the door, uncaring that he’s only wearing a set of nightclothes. He tugs on the handle - and the door refuses to budge. The key is missing, and it is locked from the outside.

No. No this cannot be!

He tugs hard on the door, then knocks on it, hard.

“Hello! Anybody! Let me out!”

“I’m sorry, Prince Minho,” a voice says from outside. “We are ordered not to let you out until the King clears it.”

“What? This is preposterous!” Minho snaps. “Let me out! It is an order!”

“Unfortunately the King’s order trumps yours,” the guard that must be posted outside replies. “Give us a few minutes, and he’ll be alerted that you’re awake.”

Minho snarls and kicks the door. “Fuck!”

He spins around, only to stumble when he’s hit by a dizzy spell. He manages to get over to the bed and sits down, clutching his head with his hands.

He’s stuck here. A prisoner in his own home.

He needs to know what has happened to all the others. Surely some must have been taken prisoner, he knows his father. The King would want to make a public spectacle of them. Anyone who didn’t get away should be in the castle dungeons, so if he can just get there somehow, he…

What, exactly? How can he free them, without alerting anyone? All these weeks, all this time spent planning, all their progress… all of it… for nothing.

He wants to scream. If he cannot stop this, Chan will never forgive him.

But Chan will also receive the same fate as his parents, and thus will not live to either forgive or spurn him. It will be only Minho, unable to forgive himself.

There’s a knock on the door and a moment later it unlocks. The King sweeps into the room, followed by a guard, a healer and a servant.

“Minho,” the King says and comes over to him, sitting down next to him on the bed. “It pleases me to see you awake. How do you fare?”

“Well, my head hurts,” Minho says pointedly, not sure if he should let it show that his life has fallen apart, “thank you, father.”

“I am sorry for that,” the King says, lip curling up at the corner, “a necessary evil.”

The healer steps forward. “It is so good to see you again, Prince Minho,” she says and curtsies, “I would like to do a full examination.”

“Yeah,” Minho mumbles, “sure.”

The King moves out of the way and Minho lays down. The servant also steps closer to be of aid, and the healer makes to get ready, but then pauses and glances towards the King.

“My King,” she says, bowing her head, “I would like to request privacy with the Prince. I will ask him some questions he might not be comfortable answering in your presence.”

The King frowns, looking from her to Minho. “Minho?”

“I- yeah, I’m okay with that,” Minho replies, “but we’ll talk later, father. Promise me.”

“Of course.” The King nods, then looks to the healer. “Report to me when you’re done here.”

“Of course, my King,” she bows her head again, “at once.”

The King sweeps from the room and the guard follows. The door shuts, and the healer sighs, looking down at him.

“You gave us a scare, Prince Minho,” she says, “I am glad to see you whole and safe.”

Minho looks at her in confusion. “I’m sorry,” he says, “but are we acquainted? You speak rather casually.”

“No,” She smiles, “not in the slightest. But I know where you have been, and what you have done.”

Minho stares at her, then at the servant, who looks up and blushes, and back.

“You know…?”

“Yes, of course,” she says, “my name is Chaeyoung. I’m Nayeon’s sister.”

“What?” Minho stares at her in surprised wonder. “You are? Then- do you know what happened to everyone?”

“Some,” she nods, “those who were caught are in the dungeons. It is my hope that those who were not managed to escape. Did you see…?”

“I saw her run,” Minho replies, “but not what might have happened after.”

Chaeyoung looks at him for a long moment, then nods. “That is more than I can hope for. Alright, Prince Minho, let me get a look at you.”

“You’re actually a healer?” he asks, a little suspicious, and she immediately frowns.

“Of course I am! I spent years apprenticing with the senior healers, and have been carrying the title of healer myself for nearly two years, thank you very much.”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” he says quickly, “I think I have seen you around, now that I think about it.”

“I’m honored.” she says dryly, and proceeds to examine him.

He answers her questions about his health as best as he’s able, then lets her examine his head, his arms and legs, and listen to his heart and check his breathing.

“Well, all seems to be in order,” she says, standing back. “I will let the King know. Do call for me if you feel ill, or any kind of pain.”

“Of course,” Minho replies, “but before you go… is there any way you can find out who is in the dungeons? Or do you know a way I can get there?”

“I’ll try my best,” she says, but she also looks apologetic. “But I can promise nothing. I cannot risk my own position.”

“I won’t ask you to do anything that will put you in danger,” Minho replies, even if part of him wants to order her to check. “But one thing I must ask.”

“Speak and let me see what I can do.”

“Jeongin. He’s in the castle still, is he not?”

“Yes.”

It’s the servant who speaks up, and Minho quickly looks towards her. She hesitates, but Chaeyoung gives her an encouraging smile.

“Jeongin is my friend. He still holds the position as a scribe.”

“Is he well?” Minho wants to know and she nods.

“He is.”

“I need to see him,” Minho chews on his lip, “can you let him know? The guards should let him pass, if they questioned him and found nothing.”

“Sure,” the servant nods, looking happy to be useful, and Minho now more than ever regrets that he never took more care to be better, to know those who have worked for him and his family for all these years. When all this is over, that will change. He vows it.

“What’s your name?”

“Oh!” She looks surprised, then quickly curtsies. “Yuna, my Prince.”

“Yuna,” Minho nods, “Chaeyoung. Thank you both. Be careful out there.”

“Of course.” Chaeyoung stands. “This isn’t the last you’ve seen of us, my Prince.”

“That sounds ominous,” Minho mutters, and she gives him a look.

“It could be. Let us leave him to rest now, Yuna.”

They both leave the room and Minho takes a deep breath. Alright. Good. Maybe there is a way to solve all of this before his father can end it all.

He’s officially a prisoner in his own room. He’s served meals three times a day, but not allowed to step out, and so far the only ones to see him are his father, Yuna, Chaeyoung, and another servant by the name of Jisoo.

It feels a lot like when he was first captured and taken to the winery, endlessly boring days only offset by his random visitors.

He is going to turn mad. A mad Prince to follow a mad King. Fitting.

It takes three days before Jeongin comes by his room and Minho shoots up from his bed when he sees him, gasping.

“Jeongin.”

“My Prince,” Jeongin says, lip wobbling. “You’re okay.”

“I am,” Minho gets up, walking over to him, glad the guards don’t come inside when he has visitors. “What’s wrong? Don’t cry, Jeongin-ah, it’s okay.”

“It’s not! Nothing is okay!” Jeongin hugs him, and Minho knows it’s only been weeks but it feels like it’s been years. He hugs Jeongin back, rubbing his back and whispering soothing little words.

“Ssh, it’s alright. We’ll figure it out, Innie, you’ll see.”

The words are more confident than he feels, but he needs to be strong.

He pulls back, cupping Jeongin’s cheeks and smiling at him. “Come on. Let’s sit and talk.”

They end up sitting facing each other on the bed, and Minho has been dying to ask, so he blurts the question out before he can stop himself.

“Why did you agree to work for them?”

Jeongin looks a little surprised to be asked this, before his expression turns thoughtful.

“Well… once you were taken, things were pretty bad around here. It was obvious who it was, considering Changbin went missing at the same time. The King was so angry, and everyone in your closest circle was questioned intensively. All the servants and guards, and me, of course, but at the time I knew nothing.”

Jeongin rubs his nose. “I went by Changbin’s room, and he had left a bunch of things. Most of it was confiscated, but some of it was deemed irrelevant, so... I wasn’t sure if he would come back, but I hoped he would. And he did.”

“I was so angry,” he confesses quietly, “but most of all I was scared. Scared of him, scared for you, scared for what it all might mean. Changbin was regretful. He said he didn’t want for things to be this way, but that there was no choice. I chose to listen to him, and what I heard… he seemed genuine.”

He looks up, fiddling with the lining of his sleeve.

“Everything he said made sense. I figured that if I was being a fool for listening to and believing him, then it was better than the alternative. He told me you were safe, and that you agreed to help them, and that if I did too, then maybe my help could turn things around for them. They no longer had anyone inside the castle, so I chose to become that person for them.”

“It was dangerous,” Minho says softly when he stops talking, “it still is. If they find out you’ve been helping the rebels all along… you’ll be put right in those cells with them, Jeongin.”

Jeongin nods, not looking surprised. “I will. But even so… I feel like I’ve done something useful, something good, despite the secrecy and the danger of it.”

He sighs, shaking his head, but when he looks back up, determination is clear in his eyes. “But I also feel like there’s more we can do. If it ends here, it’ll have been for nothing. You’ll go back to rotting in your tower like the princesses do in the fairytales, and no one will dare rebel any longer. We need to do something.”

“I agree,” Minho replies, but he doesn’t share Jeongin’s clear outlook, “but what? How can I get access to the dungeons without a guard watching my every move like a hawk? It’s clear my father doesn’t trust me… he thinks I’ve been more than just a prisoner, and the last thing we need is for him to get wind of that being true.”

Jeongin nods, biting his fingernail. “Yes… but I think I have an idea. Leave it to me?”

Minho looks at him for a long time. Jeongin has grown in the weeks since he last saw him, or maybe it’s just Minho’s own perspective of the world that has grown, changed… either way, he carries more faith in Jeongin’s abilities than he once did.

He nods.

“Of course. I trust you, Jeongin.”

Jeongin smiles, bright and clear.

♔

More time passes. Minho doesn’t want to lose hope quickly, but as the days go by, so dwindles his positive perception of the situation. He’s growing restless, pacing his room, trying to pass the time by reading books or playing chess by himself, but it’s a struggle.

Jeongin doesn’t come by again for some time, so when he finally does, Minho hardly believes it.

The door shuts behind him and Jeongin grins, sharp and pleased. “I did it.”

“Did what?” Minho asks, sitting up straighter. “What have you done?”

Jeongin comes over and holds out a slip of paper. Minho takes it, nearly ripping it in his eagerness to see.

“I managed to get into the dungeons.”

Minho’s head shoots up to look at Jeongin in surprise. “What? How-”

“The kitchen servants take turns going into the dungeons to feed the prisoners,” Jeongin explains, sitting down on the edge of Minho’s bed, “all of them rotating, so as not to get familiar with them. I simply… snuck in line.”

“You’re not even a kitchen servant,” Minho protests half-heartedly, already unfolding Jeongin’s note.

It’s a list of names. The names of every prisoner currently held within the cells, and he scans them quickly.

Felix, Jisung, Mina, Younghyun, Yeji, Changbin, Jeongyeon, Ryujin, Dahyun… Chan .

Not as many as Minho feared, but more than enough to cripple the rebellion for good, should they be unable to escape.

He sits down heavily in his chair, studying the names over and over again.

Finally he looks up. “You saw them?”

Jeongin nods.

“How were they?”

“They’re… injured, but not too badly, I don’t think,” Jeongin replies, “it was too dark to see properly, but I don’t think the King would let them stay without being treated for the most serious wounds, if they had them. Right? It wouldn’t do any good if they died in those cells, before he could make an example of them.”

Minho nods slowly. That is true. But for how long will his father’s patience last? He has tried asking, but the King is a close-lipped man, not saying anything of importance where Minho might hear it.

“Did they say anything?”

“Just one thing of importance,” Jeongin replies, then hesitates, “Chan said to keep your eye on the goal. That you would know what to do.”

“I do.” Minho whispers. “But I still don’t know if I can .”

“Hyung,” Jeongin says, getting up and walking over to him, only to kneel at his feet.

“What are you doing?” Minho asks a little frantically, trying to make him rise. “Get up-”

“Hyung,” Jeongin only repeats, louder, and offers his hands. Minho takes them, unsure. “There’s one thing I know, and that is that you’ll do what is best, for the Kingdom, but also for yourself. What your heart tells you. Is it ending your father’s life? Or will justice be met if he sees the insides of those very cells he condemns others to?”

He looks up. “That is something only you can decide. I know they want the death of the King, but if you want to stop all unnecessary bloodshed… then that is your decision to make.”

“Jeongin…” Minho whispers, holding his hands a little tighter. “I-”

“No matter what you decide, it will be the right choice,” Jeongin says firmly and bows his head, “and no matter what happens thereafter, I know that you’ll be my Prince. My King. I swear fealty to you, and you only.”

“This is blasphemous,” Minho hisses, a little frantic, trying to blink back tears, “I am not the King.”

“But you will be, sooner rather than later,” Jeongin replies, smiling a little as he glances up. “And I will be honored to be your first devoted subject, loyal to your throne.”

Minho swallows hard. If he chooses to do this, then that is it. This is the point of no return.

“I accept.”

♔

He breaks out the night after. It had been… laughably easy to plan, once he put his mind to it. Chaeyoung and Yuna had been of great help, Chaeyoung providing the right herbs for Yuna to slip into the guards’ meals, and once the coast is clear, Jeongin lets him out after pilfering the key from the sleeping guards just outside the door.

Minho throws a cloak on, drawing the hood over his head and quickly walking with Jeongin through the endless halls. If anyone spots them, Minho will simply tell them the truth.

He is on his way to see the King.

They just have to make a small detour.

They descend the stairs towards the dungeons, but the guard patrols are slack, both because of the drugged food and because it is night time. One guard is sleeping outside the door leading to the cells, and they tiptoe around him.

Pushing the door open, Minho holds his breath, hoping it won’t make much noise. He doesn’t know how powerful the herb is, even if Chaeyoung assured him several times that it would be enough.

A dim light is cast across the floor, and the hushed whispering inside is stilled half a moment later.

Minho steps inside, grasping a lantern to light his way, and walks towards the closest cell, heart jackrabbiting in his chest. The light falls over two people, and he stares at them in surprise.

“Minho?”

Jisung shifts forward, dark marks marring his face, bruises still healing.

It sends a ripple-effect through the cells.

“Minho?”

“It’s Minho?”

“Prince Minho!”

“Ssh!” Changbin hisses from somewhere. “Be quiet.”

“About time,” Ryujin says from where she’s sitting in the cell next to Jisung and Felix’, “I thought you might have left us to rot.”

“Ryujin,” Felix protests.

“No, she’s right,” Minho shakes his head. “I’ve spent too long doing nothing.”

He walks along the lines of the cells, and sees every person on Jeongin’s note present and accounted for. He comes at last to the cell where Chan, Younghyun and Changbin sit in the same cell and falls to his knees.

“Chan.”

“Minho.”

Chan smiles crookedly, coming to lean against the cell bars.

“Are you okay?” Minho asks, reaching out to cover his hands with his own. “I’m sorry I-”

“No,” Chan says softly. “Don’t be sorry. I know it is not so easy.”

He lets go and reaches out to cup Minho’s cheek. “Even if it took until my dying day, I would wait. Do you understand? If it so took my death for things to change, it would be alright.”

“I won’t let it come to that,” Minho says, leaning into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. “This ends tonight.”

“You have chosen?”

He flicks his eyes open to look at Changbin. He has a bandage haphazardly wrapped around his head, but still looks ready to fight. “You have decided what to do?”

“Yes,” Minho nods, “in so far that I know what I must do. How it happens… that is yet to be decided. I have little time, the guards won’t be out for long, but I had to come see you all, for my own sake.”

He swallows hard. “I had to know… what happened to everyone else?”

There’s a soft noise from Jisung and Felix’ cell, and Minho quickly looks that way, but it’s hard to see them from this angle.

“They left him,” Jisung says, and Minho knows he means Hyunjin. His hands shake as he clutches the bars, “they thought he was dead, so they left him there. I know he wasn’t, he must have gotten away.”

“Jisung-” Felix says softly.

“No,” Jisung shakes his head and swallows hard. “I know he lives. I know it.”

“We know some ran away,” Chan tells him, and Minho quickly looks at him again. He looks pained, but he’s clearly trying to be strong for the others. “How far they got only the stars might tell. I do not know who lives, or if anyone is dead at all.”

“I sent Seungmin away to warn the town,” Minho says, “I think he made it. He’s fast.”

“Good,” Chan smiles a little, looking pleased, “good. That will help a good deal.”

Minho nods and for a moment just looks at him, getting lost in Chan’s eyes, drinking in his features. If worst comes to worst… he does not doubt that the King will kill him, should he be made to make a choice. Minho only wishes he could extend the same courtesy in return.

So if this is to be the last time he sees Chan, he will make sure to remember it.

“Chan,” Minho begins softly, “if this… is to be the end, then I- I am no good with words, but if it is, then… know that I am not mad at you for forcing this change. Rather the opposite, it has been a long time coming, and…”

“Minho,” Chan says, shaking his head and moving his hand from Minho’s cheek to his lips, hushing him. “It’s alright. Don’t speak as if this is the night you fall.”

“I will try to come back to you.” Minho says quietly, “but if I don’t, then… make sure that whoever takes over the throne is good . That they’re better.”

Chan looks at him for a long time.

“Of course, my Prince.” It’s Changbin who speaks, who comes to kneel by the cell bars. “You have our word, as well as my allegiance. If I had a sword and a way out of here, I would do this properly, but…”

He smiles crookedly. “This will have to do.”

“Minho!” Jeongin hisses, rushing down the corridor, and Minho jumps. He had completely forgotten Jeongin was even there.

“Look!”

He’s brandishing a keyring, full of keys.

“The keys!” Mina gasps. “You have them!”

Minho stares at him. “Jeongin…”

Jeongin grins, but before he can say anything else, there’s a loud bell blaring through the castle.

All of them freeze in place. Distant yells come.

“The herb must be wearing off.” Jeongin says, smile disappearing. “Oh no.”

“Quick! Unlock the cells!”

Jeongin fumbles, rushing to unlock all the doors, and Minho gets to his feet, mind racing as he tries to figure out what to do. They might not yet have discovered he is missing from his room, it could be that they have simply discovered the drugged guards somewhere, but…

The door to Chan’s cell swings open and Chan is there, immediately pulling him into his arms. Minho hugs him back almost desperately, clinging to him, and Chan sighs.

“I was afraid I wouldn’t get to do this before the end.” he says, and then pulls Minho into a kiss.

Minho kisses him back. He winds his hands into Chan’s hair and pulls him deeper into it, opening his mouth to Chan’s tongue, and moans.

He’s almost desperate, fervent with it, finally feeling Chan’s mouth against his own-

“Hey!”

They break apart with a gasp to find Younghyun watching them, both amused and exasperated. “We have to go. There is no time for this.”

“Right,” Minho licks his lips and clears his throat. “Right. Jeongin.”

Jeongin immediately stands to attention.

“The way out, in the servants quarters. Do you know it?”

Jeongin’s brow furrows, but Chan puts a hand on Minho’s arm.

“No need,” he says, smiling slightly. “I do.”

Minho closes his eyes briefly. Of course. How could he forget? He opens them again and nods. “Alright. Bring everyone there. Most servants should be friendly and won’t say a word. Get out of here, while you still can.”

“And you?” Changbin asks, frowning. “You’re going alone?”

Minho nods. “I must.”

“Very well.” Changbin nods slightly. “So be it. Good luck, Prince Minho. I hope that come morning, there will be someone new on the throne.”

“So do I.” Minho’s throat feels tight. His eyes sting. He looks at Chan again, then pulls him into another kiss, softer this time. “Go.”

Chan nods, pressing their foreheads together, then finally steps back.

“Come, Jeongin. I know the way, but you know the guards’ movements better than I.”

Jeongin straightens up, nodding. “This way, everyone.”

They all hurry towards the exit, and Minho watches them go. Chan pauses in the doorway, looking back at him, and then is gone, between one blink and the next.

He waits another few moments, then pulls his hood back on and hurries out of the dungeons as well. The guard by the door is still unconscious, thankfully, but it most likely won’t be for much longer. He needs to find his father, and fast.

He hurries up the steps, listening for voices, for movements. The bells are still going, footsteps trample overhead, but he manages to avoid being spotted, narrowly missing two guards coming the opposite way from him as he reaches the floor of his father’s study.

If his father is in bed, his study will still hold something of use to Minho. A weapon, swords hung proudly above the mantelpiece. From there, it will be a short walk to his bedroom, and… and the end of all of this.

He reaches the study and pushes the door open carefully, looking up and down the hallway, before walking inside and shutting the door.

His heart sinks in his chest.

His father stands by the fireplace, a goblet in one hand.

“Hello, son.”

“Father,” Minho says, voice dry. “You’re here.”

“Yes. I figured you would come here.” His father smiles slightly. “Let the captives escape, I assume?”

“Yes.” Minho replies, walking towards him, coming to stand on this side of the desk. “You know why I’m here.”

“Of course,” the King finally looks up at him. “You have let the rebels poison you, turned you against your own Kingdom. Tell me, Minho. How does it feel to fail them?”

Minho swallows hard. He feels like he’s twelve years old again, standing before his father ready to be scolded for failing to live up this title. Part of him wants to run and hide again, go to his mother’s crypt for comfort - but the other part, smallest of them all, knows that he has to stand his ground once and for all.

“I won’t fail them,” he grits out, “I refuse to. I will make my demands and for once you will listen to me.”

His father looks unperturbed.

“State them, then.”

“Sit down.” Minho says. His father does, seating himself in the chair, and Minho walks over until the desk is the only thing separating them.

“You’re going to step down as King,” Minho says firmly. His father looks up, raising an eyebrow. “You’re going to let the people know of your wrongdoings - the taxes, the pursuit of innocent people, the displacement of those more vulnerable than yourself. You’re going to apologize for all to hear, and then go into exile.”

“And if I refuse?” the King replies.

“Then you die.” Minho says, and the words sting. “Is that not the law of our Kingdom? Traitors must die.”

He attempts to take a deep breath, but it catches in his throat.

“I am trying to let you live. You’re my father, despite not acting much like one. Please, for once , just do as I say.” he says desperately, hating how he has to blink back tears. “Don’t let this be how it ends. Be good .”

His father stares him down, fingers steepled together under his chin, and Minho struggles to meet his eyes. Is this really who he is? Supposedly a Prince, reduced to cowering under his father’s gaze. He wants to yell and scream, but he doesn’t.

“I always knew you were too soft.” his father says.

Minho closes his eyes, heart sinking in his chest, and his father continues speaking.

“I tried to make you better, I really did. I attempted to rid you of things such as feelings, because feelings lead to mistakes, to this .”

He waves a hand around, and it’s like he’s talking about something inconsequential, like the weather. Minho sees the disparage between them and he hates it, loathes it with all his being.

“But I was wrong. I should have realized that it was impossible… still, you are my son and I wanted to do what was best for you.”

“No,” Minho grits out, “you were trying to do what was best for you . This whole time that has been all you care about! Not about me, or about those around you. Yourself. You’re selfish, you’re vain, and I’m glad I’m about to change all of that.”

“Are you really?” his father asks, eyebrows raising. “Because I hear a lot of words with very little substance.”

He pushes his chair back and holds his arms out.

“Well? Go on, Minho. Kill your own father, your flesh and blood.”

Minho’s hands shake. He doesn’t even have a weapon. He thinks about wrapping his hands around his father’s throat and his mouth goes dry.

He can’t. He can’t do it.

He-

Knocking on the door startles them both. The door opens and the Guard-Captain ppears. In front of him he’s pushing Chan.

Minho’s heart sinks. Chan looks furious, but when their eyes meet, he appears more guilty.

“My King,” the Guard-Captain says quickly, looking between them with some confusion. “The prisoners have escaped, but we managed to catch this one.”

He shakes Chan by the shoulder and Chan grimaces.

“I see,” the King sits up, looking at Minho for another moment before something plays across his face. A smirk, a hint of some plan. “Captain. The Prince is responsible for the prisoner’s escape. He’s leading these rebels, and he’s just threatened my life. Kill him.”

Minho freezes. He wants to protest, despite it all being true, but he feels like he’s just been dunked in freezing water.

“My King?” the Guard-Captain questions with a frown, looking unsure.

“Kill him!” the King barks. “That is an order from your King! He is in league with these miscreants and wants my death!”

The Guard-Captain doesn’t react immediately, but Chan does. He tears himself free, shoving the Guard-Captain back and stealing his sword on the way. They’ve made the mistake of not tying him up, and he strides forward. The King surges to his feet.

“Wait!” Minho snatches Chan by the arm, pulling him back. “Don’t!”

“He needs to die!” Chan snaps. “He’s insane, Minho. I said I would do it for you and I intend to go through with that!”

“You’re stronger than my son, I see,” the King spits, “I should have had you killed when I had the chance, Chan.”

“You should have.” Chan agrees tonelessly. “Only another in your long line of mistakes.”

He glances at Minho. “Let me do this, Minho.”

His tone is desperate, but the hand holding the sword is steady. “Don’t bereave me of this.”

“I’m sorry.” Minho says softly, and Chan’s expression shutters.

Minho looks at his father again.

“I’ll tell you this one more time. You will step down. Give me your crown.”

“Coward.” his father says, straightening himself up. “You’ll run this Kingdom into the ground, Minho, you mark my words.”

He rips his crown off, but instead of giving it over he tosses it aside. Minho looks at the man who he’s been so scared off, and feels… nothing.

“Guard-Captain,” he says. “Arrest my father. Lock him in the cells for the time being, and set up a guard by him constantly.”

He glances over his shoulder to see the Guard-Captain straighten up. “Of course, Prince Minho.”

“Traitor!” the King spits. “You’ll regret this, I promise you that much!”

“No, you don’t,” Minho says. He feels detached from the situation, from himself. “I’ll visit you soon. If I were you I’d start thinking about how you’re going to rectify all the mistakes you’ve made.”

The Guard-Captain calls in more guards from outside, and then walks over. It isn’t long before they’re taking the King out of the room. Minho watches them go, and once the door shuts behind them he turns to Chan, who’s looking at the spot the King had been in, sword hanging limply by his side.

“Chan?” he calls softly, stepping in front of him. He pries the sword from his hand, carefully setting it down on the desk. “Look at me.”

Chan does, raising his gaze. His eyes are wet, and his expression crumbles a little.

“It’s over,” Minho says, cupping his cheeks. “It’s okay. It’s over.”

Chan inhales, a shuddery thing, and reaches out to do the same to Minho, stroking his cheek gently.

“You’re a better man than I,” he says. Minho smiles crookedly.

“No, not really. I’m just tired of bloodshed.”

He lets go and steps back, walking over to where the crown landed. Picking it up, he stares at it, before placing it on his head.

“It suits you.” Chan offers.

Minho grimaces, not liking the heavy weight of it. It’s different than the one he’s used to, but he supposes this will be his future, now.

Turning back to Chan, he walks over and takes his hand.

“Can we do this together?” he asks, hopeful, and Chan smiles and raises their hands to gently kiss Minho’s fingers.

“Of course. Together.”

♔

If Minho is asked to recall the days after, he wouldn’t be able to. He knows a lot has happened, but it’s so much at once and at such a speed that he can barely turn around before someone whisks him this way or that, asking him to do something or wanting to know what will happen next.

Once his father is imprisoned, he takes Chan and the Guard-Captain - a kind man named Sungjin, who Minho is a little upset to not have learned to know sooner - to wake the advisors and let them know the King is effectively unseated, and that they can choose to stay and see if they’re picked for the new council Minho wants to put into place as soon as possible, or to leave, and begone from the Kingdom before Minho chooses to be less benevolent.

They try to protest, but Minho isn’t joking, and they seem to understand when the Guard-Captain makes to draw his sword as a threat.

When they finish their meeting in the council chamber, he’s down to only three out of eight, and he’s not certain how long those three will stay, either. He already has an idea of who he wants to put into place, but he also knows he wants to make sure it’s an election, more than a biased pick.

He sends healers with Chan to the winery, to make sure that if anybody needs help, they will get it, and sends some guards with them as well, hoping no one will turn on him by attacking Chan on the way.

Somehow, though, it seems like a lot of people don’t mind the change in power, at least not those in the castle. Once messengers have been dispersed into the city, though, it’s another matter, and for two days he has a lot of very angry people at the castle doors, demanding to know what will happen now.

Minho recognizes that they’re scared more than anything. He thinks that he could approach them in many different ways, but he wants to reassure them most of all, letting them know that he’ll try to be just in his ways, and that they won’t be forgotten, but that change is required and that if they don’t like it, they’re free to move to another Kingdom.

Of course, he knows it isn’t going to end with that, but it’ll have to do until he’s settled in properly and learned what he needs to do to be a good King while at the same time keeping up with all the traditions and making changes through legal means.

He feels as though he hasn’t slept in five days, and he’s a little overwhelmed.

And then there’s the matter of his father. Minho has decided he needs to stand trial. It’ll be the best way to deal with him, and he wants everyone who has been wronged by him to feel like they’re getting some justice, too.

He retreats in the evening, pleasantly surprised to find Chan in the study where it all went down. He still feels the ghost of his father in there, but soon he’ll replace that with new memories, with a feeling that this is his.

“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon.”

“Yes, well,” Chan turns away from the window to smile at him, “they have it well in hand. There’s nothing more for me to do at the moment. Everyone is just resting.”

Minho had been relieved to find out no one had died the night of the attack. Several were injured, and some, like Hyunjin, were still recovering, but they would all get away with their lives. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he’d inadvertently caused someone’s death. He knows that some, if not all, were prepared to give their lives for the cause-

He’s happy it didn’t come to that.

“Good. Let me know if anyone needs anything, okay?”

“You have enough on your plate as it is,” Chan says, shaking his head and turning around properly to pull Minho into his arms, “let me handle it.”

“I would rather be back there with you than here,” Minho grumbles, hunching down a little to make himself smaller as he hugs Chan back. “Why did I agree to this? I should have run away and become a hermit.”

“You’re fine,” Chan says, and Minho both hates and loves that he believes him, “just give it time. You’re going to be a fine King.”

“As soon as I undo all my father’s fuckups,” Minho pulls away, moving to sit down by the desk, “I realized it was bad, but somehow I didn’t think it was this bad. How did I never see it?”

Chan comes over, putting a hand in his hair and slowly stroking through it. Minho leans into it, closing his eyes. He’s still baffled that this is a thing now. This is something he gets to do.

“We can talk at length about the whys and hows,” Chan begins, “but will it help? Focus on the future. Focus on what you can do from here. You’re going to be fine, Minho. Once you’ve seated a new council, it will get much easier, and the servants are here to help you as well.”

“I feel bad asking them to do anything.” Minho admits. He’s had servants his whole life, but he feels a lot more responsible for them now than before. He almost apologizes every time they come to take his laundry or put a meal in front of him.

Chan laughs, and Minho melts.

“That’s a good sign, I think. Just make sure you never forget to be humble, and they’ll be more than happy to work for you.”

“We’ll see.” Minho grumbles. “Should’ve just made Jeongin King and abdicated.”

“Now that’s something I’d be okay with.” Chan says. His voice is teasing, and when Minho looks up he’s looking down at him with such fondness it makes his chest ache. “Then I could steal you away, find a nice little cottage for the two of us.”

Minho makes a face.

“We’d both be bored within two days.”

“Probably,” Chan admits, “but it’d be nice once in a while.”

“If we have the time,” Minho replies, “with me being King and you… well. I want you here, but… I’ve not forgotten what you told me, about living a simple life on a farm.”

“Mm,” Chan nods slowly, “I could do both.”

He shifts, and Minho pushes the chair out a bit, grabbing Chan about the waist and pulling him down into his lap.

“Hey!” Chan protests with a laugh, winding an arm around Minho’s shoulders. “I’m heavy!”

“Not that heavy,” Minho says, leaning in to give him a soft kiss. “We’ll figure it out. I’d travel anywhere I’d need to if it meant coming back to you at the end of the day.”

Chan smiles into the kiss, pulling back a little.

“Having the King at my beck and call? Sounds risky.”

“Not King,” Minho says, shaking his head, “not with you. Just… Minho. That’s all I want to be with you.”

“Of course,” Chan says, cupping his cheeks. “Minho. My Minho.”

“Yours.” Minho replies softly. “For as long as I can be.”

Going to bed that evening, he gets to wrap his arms around Chan, curling up against his back. He thinks about these past weeks, how much things have changed, and he has to hide a smile against Chan’s neck.

There is still a lot of work that needs to be done, but… he’s not alone, now. He has people he can rely on. Knowing that what he’s done has been the right decision, that people are happy he’s the one on the throne, knowing that he can come back to Chan, to his friends…

He’s happy.