Chapter Text
Your Royal Highness,
I hope this letter finds you in good health. I have received your latest missive, including your request for a discreet convoy. While I would rather have you escorted to my kingdom—our kingdom, your new home—with great dignity and fanfare, for I know that my people will see you and admire you upon sight, I shall concede to your points.
Jongdae-ah . . . you have always had a way with words, and I fear I shall never be able to deny you anything.
Perhaps it is unfitting for a king to admit such a thing, but will you forgive my yearning heart?
As you wish, I shall send only one emissary to meet with and accompany you to Seoul. There is nothing more important to me than your safety and well-being, so I have selected the very best man for the job. Sir Baekhyun is young—about your age, by my estimate; I do hope you will find him to be an agreeable companion on the long journey back—but he is brave and honorable and skilled, with a strong desire to prove himself. I trust he will protect you with his life and deliver you safely home, where I shall wait for you most ardently.
Since I expect this to be our last exchange before your arrival, I have endeavored to make it brief. There are many things I would like to say to you, of course, but now, more than ever, I look forward to the day you become my husband and consort, and I can tell you my deepest thoughts—in person.
I wonder, are there also secrets you would share with me?
Be well. I shall see you soon.
I am, ever yours,
Junmyeon
♚
The letter was creased, having been folded and unfolded repeatedly since it reached Jongdae a fortnight ago. Still, Jongdae couldn't help but devour its contents one more time, tracing his finger lightly over the words that he had likewise learned by heart: our kingdom, your new home, the long journey.
I shall see you soon.
Jongdae smiled, curling the note against his chest. Sehun would tease him if he were present—partly because he was a terrible excuse of a manservant who had no qualms about mocking his master, partly because he'd already caught Jongdae in the act the day before—and the day before that—and he'd muttered under his breath about "dumb princes" and "dumber kings" and "when's that schmuck knight supposed to come anyway; he's sure taking his time" the entire candle mark he took to make Jongdae's bed. (And Jongdae's bed was not lavish, for a prince; the boy was really just that awful at the basic requirements of his job.) But Jongdae's smile had only grown bigger, wider, as he broke his fast and patiently ignored Sehun.
The thing was, Jongdae knew two things Sehun didn't. Actually, Jongdae knew many things Sehun didn't, for the prince was older and wiser and also extremely well educated, while Sehun was just unmotivated enough to avoid his calling as the court jester. Pertaining to the letter, however, there were two elements that Jongdae had not shared with his manservant, despite their tendency to tell each other everything, no holds barred. Two elements that made him smile uncontrollably, enticing him to read those auspicious words again and again.
The first thing had to do with the author of the letter, the young King Junmyeon. Sehun had never met the king, and Jongdae had technically only met him once before, many years ago, when he was still a child and then-Prince Junmyeon had visited with his parents for Jongdeok's investiture as heir to the throne of Siheung. Jongdae's memories of his betrothed were patchy, like an artist's palette—if you examined it carefully enough, you could convince yourself to see art in the mixed pigments themselves. Jongdae only remembered an older boy, already too solemn and too stiff for his age, who had seemed less like a boy and more like a boy who had been trained since birth to become a king. Jongdae would often place his memories of Junmyeon side by side everything he knew about Jongdeok, who was warm and funny and doted on him, and decide he was grateful that his brother had been spared whatever malady that generally afflicted crown princes.
But then Junmyeon began writing to him.
Jongdae had received the first letter on his sixteenth birthday. Polite but distant, formal and, worst of all, boring, it echoed everything he thought he knew about his betrothed. It was, however, an invitation to familiarize themselves with each other, to become friends, as Junmyeon had suggested. Jongdae had thought about how weird the idea was, to befriend someone with whom he was already promised to spend the rest of his life. Beyond that, he couldn't think of any reason not to, so he wrote back, and then Junmyeon responded, and then it was his turn, and so on.
The more Junmyeon had written to him, the better Jongdae became at taking those colorful pigments and transferring them onto the canvas of his mind, until one day he realized he had something like a half-finished portrait. He was even somewhat fond of it and relished every opportunity to add a stroke here and a dab there, each letter from Junmyeon bringing him closer to a complete picture.
Before long, what started as an overture of friendliness grew into an official courtship. Junmyeon's letters never quite lost their decorum over the course of their correspondence, but it did not surprise Jongdae when they began to adopt a more romantic spirit—or at least Junmyeon's attempt at being romantic, which Jongdae found simultaneously awkward and endearing. He still thought Junmyeon was somewhat of a stick in the mud, but it was no longer impossible for him to envision a future where the Crown Prince of Seoul was his stick in the mud.
Then Junmyeon's father died, and Jongdae's prince was suddenly a king.
Jongdae waited and waited, but it took a long time after that for another letter to arrive. When it finally did, Jongdae hesitated to read it, fearing that time and distance and grief would change the easy rapport they had built. Instead of any regression, however, he found in the letter maturity (not new), forwardness (new)—and a fervent petition for Jongdae's hand in marriage (very new). It confused him at first, since they'd been betrothed for as long as he could remember, but it was for that very reason that Junmyeon implored him to truly consider the proposal.
He offered Jongdae a choice.
That was definitely new.
As dazed as he had been by the offer, Jongdae did not take the decision lightly. He begged his brother for advice and made lists of pros and cons. He even humored Sehun by letting him weigh in with his opinion, though he'd promptly and willfully forgotten most of what was said in that conversation. Finally, he thought about his mental portrait of the king, about the blank canvas he'd started with and the myriad of colors he'd added so far. Then he thought about the negative space, about what was missing still—and wondered if there was room to find himself there.
And he said yes.
Of course, his answer pleased the king, whose letters thereafter continued to reveal the struggle between Junmyeon's regal dignity and unexpected tenderness. He always managed to sound so stuffy and sappy at the same time that the discrepancy was, in fact, the first of two things that Jongdae found endlessly delightful. He just couldn't possibly describe it to Sehun, who would never forgive his master for expecting him to care about something as trifling as aristocratic propriety.
The second thing had to do with the recipient of the letter, and it was this: Jongdae's deepest desire was to escape the confines of his childhood home (okay, some might call it a castle, and some might be correct) and see what was out there in the world with his own eyes. As a young prince, he'd never been allowed to venture beyond the palace grounds on his own, never made it that much farther even with the company of his parents. He'd never thought about how his way out would involve moving toward a different castle, but at least the distance between the two was far and wide, and there would be plenty to see on the journey ahead.
He couldn't wait, and it was hardly a secret. Sehun was well aware of his ambition. They'd talked about it often enough over the years, Jongdae dreaming of all the things he'd see and do, all the people he'd meet and maybe even help, and Sehun pointing out all the improbabilities of his elaborate fantasies. But Jongdae would guess that even his closest confidante could not understand the depth of his desire, would not feel the promise of adventure that radiated from the page, so there was no point in trying to explain it to him. Jongdae didn't think it would be appropriate to share these feelings with his parents or brother either, so he kept them mostly to himself—only allowing his elation to show in the curled corners of his lips.
He was still smiling, leaning back against the headboard of his bed, when Sehun finally barged into his chambers and screeched, "What! Are. You. Doing??"
Jongdae just grinned. "Good morning, Sehunnie."
Sehun narrowed his eyes, spying the page that had fallen to the prince's lap. Amused, Jongdae watched as his manservant marched over to the window and yanked the curtains apart with a triumphant hah! He looked annoyingly pleased with himself as Jongdae tried to recover from momentary blindness.
"Well, Your Highness, while you've been lazing about in bed, flogging your log over that vomitous love letter, guess who's here?"
"What are you talking about?" Jongdae whined, still trying to block the sun from his vision. "Who? And when did you get to be so vulgar? Honestly, Sehun, I think you spend too much time with those rotten stable boys."
"Never mind that," Sehun said, scowling. He came over and tugged back the bedcovers, trying to pull Jongdae from their grasp. "Your dumb knight is here!"
"Oh!" Jongdae leapt out of bed and tumbled into his manservant's arms. Ignoring the immediate complaints about his clinginess, Jongdae wrapped his arms around Sehun's broad shoulders and positively vibrated with excitement. (Occasionally Jongdae would play up his energy because it was fun to make Sehun, who had the personality of a particularly ill-mannered cat, squirm, but there was no need to play-act this time.) "Really? He's here? Oh my god, he's here! Why didn't you wake me sooner!"
Sehun sighed. "I hate you."
Jongdae smacked a loud, obnoxious kiss against Sehun's cheek before shoving him aside. "He's here!" he shouted again and then raced over to the window, where he pressed himself as close to the glass as possible. Sure enough, there was a strange new carriage and several tired-looking horses in the courtyard below. He couldn't spy any knights amongst the guards and servants milling around, though, so he figured Sir Baekhyun must have been ushered inside already.
"Quickly, Hun-ah," Jongdae said. He spun around to find Sehun lounging on his unmade bed, propped up on one elbow, looking bored and sulky at once. Jongdae tossed a pillow at Sehun's face. "Come on! Get up and help me get ready. Today is the most important day of our lives, Sehun. The most important. We can't waste any more time."
Jongdae was already halfway undressed when he heard another deep sigh. "Have I mentioned how much I hate you?"
♚
"Wow! Everything here is so tiny. Tiny land, tiny castle, tiny people . . . Baekhyun, look, tiny people."
"They're called children," Baekhyun said, half-amused, half-exasperated, as he narrowly avoided crashing into one. "They tend to be small. We have them in our land too. Chanyeol, stop—"
Too late. Chanyeol, who was more legs than person, bumped into one of the little girls running around after her friends. Baekhyun cringed, expecting tears, tantrums—nothing less than a disaster within ten seconds of walking onto their host's property, as these things tend to go with Chanyeol present—but there were giggles instead. Chanyeol had caught the girl, sweeping her up and into the air, and was swinging her to and fro cheerfully.
"Hello, miniature human!" he said. "Hello!"
"Put her down," Baekhyun said, looking mildly horrified as the other children swarmed around them with their arms up. They, too, wanted to fly, and as much as he would love to play with their new friends in other circumstances, that was not the mission Baekhyun had signed up for. "Chanyeol!"
"Okay, okay." Chanyeol carefully landed the girl back on her feet and pat her head. "Sorry," he said to a chorus of groans and whines, jerking a thumb at Baekhyun. "Adults, am I right? Gotta go."
Baekhyun rolled his eyes and continued walking through the corridor, trusting that Chanyeol would follow once he managed to shake the kids off. Ahead, an attendant was leading their party of two to the Great Hall, where, he'd been told, the King of Siheung had gathered his court to greet them. Baekhyun didn't want to keep them waiting and make a bad impression right away. Or at all. He knew how important this was to their sire.
Chanyeol had complained about their assignment when he'd heard about it. "Escort?" he exclaimed. "Escort? Why don't you just call it what it is—babysitting. Babysitting, Baekhyun! Some bubble-headed prince! What, he couldn't have sent anyone else? We're knights."
"I'm a knight," Baekhyun corrected absently, despite his efforts to tune out Chanyeol as he packed. Unfortunately, Chanyeol was hard to ignore. "You're my squire."
"And your best friend," Chanyeol added indignantly. "So. I'm telling you, as your best friend, and also as a knight-to-be, that this mission is crap. It's not even a real mission, probably. Maybe the king just wanted to get rid of us for a while, hmm? Did you think about that?"
In truth, at first Baekhyun had wondered why King Junmyeon had chosen them, and only them, to go collect his future husband instead of one of their many ambassadors, who would have been more suitable for these kinds of diplomatic pursuits. Before he had a chance to express his curiosity, however, Junmyeon went on to describe the rustic charm of Siheung and all the wonderful things and people he'd seen there when he'd personally visited in his youth. He emphasized what a pleasant experience it would be for Baekhyun and Chanyeol and how he wished he could accompany them—if he didn't have a country of his own to run.
The more he listened, the clearer it had became to Baekhyun how close this quest was to the king's heart—or if not the quest itself then certainly its end result. Baekhyun figured that Junmyeon was exaggerating the appeal of the journey and of Siheung, as well, but there was no doubt that his eyes lit up whenever he spoke of that little kingdom where his prince resided.
Of the prince himself, Junmyeon was more reserved—at least he tried to be. He didn't mention him more than was necessary in granting Baekhyun the assignment, but the slight quiver in his voice and soft look in his eyes were more than enough evidence for Baekhyun to realize: His king was anxious, excited, and quite obviously lovesick.
The poor sod.
And as soon as he realized this, Baekhyun also concluded that the king must hold him in great esteem to entrust him with such responsibility: the protection of his . . . well, his happiness. Touched, Baekhyun promised that he would fetch Prince Jongdae and reunite them as soon as possible.
"It would be my honor," he pledged then, and he meant it. Chanyeol might disagree, but Baekhyun knew with all of his heart that there was no greater quest than one in the name of love.
So as he stood in front of the Great Hall with Chanyeol by his side, waiting to be announced, Baekhyun was already thinking of the next steps. He wanted to be quick and efficient, to uphold his promise and return to Seoul with the prince at the earliest possibility. The journey to Siheung had been smooth—Chanyeol's spirits had lifted as soon as they were out on the road, so they had as much fun traversing the land as they always did, and it only took them a little over a week to arrive.
Going back with a such precious cargo in tow, however, could take double the time, if not longer. He and Chanyeol were used to camping and living off the land, but he imagined that a pampered prince would require proper lodging and regular meals. They would be taking breaks more frequently, especially to let the horses rest, and going into towns or villages to spend the night—occasionally in territories that belonged to neither of their kingdoms.
While they were experiencing a period of relative peace right now, Baekhyun knew better than to let down his guard. It would be in everyone's best interests if they disguised as commoners along the way, Baekhyun thought, but he had no idea what the second prince of Siheung was like, if he would agree, or even how many attendants he'd want to bring. The more people, the more complicated, the more attention they would draw—but it would still be his duty to lead them all safely home.
Baekhyun let out a small sigh, bracing himself.
"Here we go," Chanyeol whispered loudly. The massive wooden doors of the Great Hall creaked open, and Baekhyun could hear the chatter inside die down as he was introduced:
"SIR BAEKHYUN OF BUCHEON."
Baekhyun took measured steps walking to the front of the hall, Chanyeol two paces behind him all the way. He kept his eyes on the king the entire time, showing confidence—but not arrogance—as an agent of Seoul, and bowed respectfully as he approached the throne.
"Your Majesty," he greeted, "King Junmyeon sends his deepest regrets for not being able to come himself."
"My dear son-in-law is a busy man," the King said. He didn't look fazed. "Siheung is happy to receive his best and brightest." Next to Baekhyun, Chanyeol perked up, grinning at the compliment he no doubt took very personally. There might have been a flash of a thumbs up too. It made the King laugh.
"My squire, Chanyeol," Baekhyun said, somewhat sheepishly.
In turn, the King introduced his wife, the Queen, and eldest son, Prince Jongdeok. They were a handsome family, Baekhyun thought, but the star of this show was obviously missing.
"Where's Prince Jongdae?" Chanyeol asked eagerly.
"Our son had a late start this morning," said the Queen, apologetic. "His servant is fetching him now."
Chanyeol sent Baekhyun a Look. Baekhyun knew he was trying to communicate telepathically, which was definitely not a thing no matter how much Chanyeol made them practice—but then again, he also knew what Chanyeol was trying to say: high maintenance.
They were making small talk about the latest going-ons in Seoul when the doors of the Great Hall again swung open. Baekhyun turned to find two young men racing toward them. Well, he supposed, one was racing; the taller, scowlier one was technically being dragged along.
"PRINCE JONGDAE," came the announcement.
"Present!" the young prince called, panting. He was nearly doubled over, trying to catch his breath. "We're here. We made it."
"Your Majesties," muttered the other boy. He bowed, too, although it looked a little unnatural, like he wasn't used to bending his body that way. If he was a servant, he was the strangest one Baekhyun had ever met, but a glance at the royals showed that they didn't find him odd or offensive at all. The Queen even looked fondly upon both the latecomers.
"Jongdae-ah," said the King, "Sir Baekhyun and his squire, Chanyeol, have come from Seoul."
Baekhyun watched as Prince Jongdae straightened up, smiling brightly, and swiftly approached—Chanyeol.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir Knight," he said, shaking Chanyeol's hand enthusiastically. "I've been waiting a long time!"
For once, Baekhyun thought, Chanyeol looked a little lost for words, his mouth hanging open as he looked at the prince helplessly. "Well, I—I'm not a knight yet," he recovered after a moment, "but almost? And thank you? I guess? Uh, Baekhyun? Want to jump in here?"
"Jongdae," Prince Jongdeok said sharply.
"What?"
"I'm Baekhyun," Baekhyun said firmly, stepping forward. He was used to people underestimating him because of his smaller build, especially next to his giant of a friend, but he'd never let other people's judgments take away his own accomplishments or deter him from his duties, and he wasn't about to start now. Not even for a prince.
"Ohh," Prince Jongdae said, letting go of Chanyeol to rest a hand on Baekhyun's forearm. His touch was light, hesitant, but Baekhyun could still feel the heat of his skin through the thin cotton material of his sleeve. He tried not to flinch. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—it's just . . . he looked . . . I didn't think—"
"It's a simple misunderstanding," Baekhyun said, a little stiff. "Think nothing of it."
"Still, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. Please, I hope you're not—"
"It's fine."
"Okay," Prince Jongdae said, drawing back, but he still looked unsure. Well. What else could he say? It's not my job to make him feel better, Baekhyun thought. I just have to herd him home.
"Sir Baekhyun," the Queen spoke up suddenly, "you and your squire must be tired from the long journey here. Why don't you rest up before the banquet tonight? It's being held in your honor, to welcome you to our kingdom. It's also a goodbye feast for our Jongdae." She had a smile like her son's, curling and infectious, and she was using it to relieve the tension in the hall. Quite effectively.
"We are much obliged for your kindness, Your Majesty," Baekhyun said, slipping on a small smile as well. "A bit of rest sounds perfect." Chanyeol nodded.
"Sehun," said the Queen, "will you show our esteemed guests to their quarters?"
"Of course, Your Majesty," said the servant boy, Sehun. He looked at Baekhyun and then Chanyeol, doing that little half-bow—more like a slight bend—of his again. "Please follow me."
♚
"He hates me," Jongdae whined into his pillow, drumming his fists on the bed Sehun hadn't bothered to make this morning in their rush. His legs might have been flailing unattractively too, but Jongdae was too distressed to care.
"Probably," Sehun agreed.
Jongdae whipped his head up to face his manservant. "He does? What—did he say anything to you?"
"Um . . ." Sehun's lips were pressed together so tightly they disappeared into his signature frown. Objectively, Jongdae knew he wasn't conveying unhappiness or dissatisfaction—it was just a habit, something he did unconsciously. (In fact, Sehun's mother—Jongdae's favorite cook—used to say that they had mirrored mouths, that the corners of her son's lips naturally curved down, tsk, where the little prince's tipped up, see?—an indication of their vastly different fortunes, she would say knowledgeably, before Sehun would get mad and stomp away.) But Jongdae wasn't thinking very objectively right now, so all he got out of it was oh my god, Sir Baekhyun must be so upset with me right now, so terribly upset!
"I don't know," Sehun finally said.
"What do you mean you don't know?" Jongdae sat up, wringing his sheets anxiously. "Did he say something or didn't he?"
"He said . . . some things," Sehun said vaguely.
"Like what?"
Sehun shrugged.
"Oh my god, is this payback for this morning? I'm sorry, okay? Now tell me everything."
Sehun sent him a smirk before tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Well, I took him and that squire of his to their chambers. And I said, 'Here are your chambers.'"
Jongdae bit his lip. "And?"
"And . . . and then I said, 'If you need anything, just let a servant know. But not me, because I'm not your servant.'"
Jongdae huffed. "Brat. What did he say?"
"Your dumb knight said, 'I understand.'"
"And?"
"That's it."
"That can't be it," Jongdae protested.
"Well . . . his squire did say to me, 'You're very weird.' And I said, 'No, you're weird.' And then I left."
"That's really it?"
"That's really it," Sehun confirmed.
Jongdae sighed and flopped sideways onto his pillows. He knew he was being dramatic, but he couldn't help it.
"Why do you care so much anyway?" Sehun said.
"Hmm?"
"I mean, you're marrying the king of Seoul. Who cares about this one dumb baby knight? Technically he's your underling now, right?"
"I guess," Jongdae said. "But I offended him."
"So? He was rude too. You should just have him executed when you become queen or whatever. You can totally do that, you know."
"Consort," Jongdae corrected, frowning, "and I know you're joking, but please don't go repeating that to him. Or anyone else."
"No promises," Sehun mumbled.
"You are right, though," Jongdae said after a moment.
"I know. Let's hang him."
"No, I mean—he was a bit rude, wasn't he? I apologized. Many times!"
"Mm-hmm."
"And it was an honest mistake. I was just so excited, and I saw that man—and I thought—well . . . I was wrong. But I apologized!"
"You sure did."
"So the chivalrous thing to do would be accepting my apology, instead of being all . . . cold with me, right?"
"Damn right."
Jongdae sighed again. Sehun's deadpanned encouragements were sucking the energy out of him instead of adding any motivational value. He desperately needed some doggy friends. "At least we'll see him at the banquet tonight. Maybe we could start over."
"Give him a piece of your mind," Sehun said.
Jongdae hummed noncommittally. It wasn't a bad idea, he thought, if worst came to worst. Him, Sehun, Sir Baekhyun, and that squire, Chanyeol—they were all going to be stuck together for a while, and Jongdae didn't want any bad feelings to ruin this adventure before it even started. One way or another, he would talk to Baekhyun tonight and sort everything out.
♚
Baekhyun was looking for Chanyeol, whom he'd last seen chasing after a plate of chicken, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around.
"Good evening," said the Second Prince of Siheung.
"Your Highness," Baekhyun greeted, bowing.
The prince grimaced. "Please call me Jongdae," he said. "It'll be unbearable if we keep up formalities for the next few weeks."
"As you wish," Baekhyun said. Secretly he was glad the prince seemed to have some sensibilities—it would draw too much attention on the road if they were constantly calling out his royal style.
"Can we talk?" Jongdae said. Baekhyun nodded and startled when Jongdae suddenly grasped his wrist. Still, he let Jongdae lead him out onto the terrace, where they found an empty bench in a secluded corner. The buzz of the banquet faded into negligible background noise.
"Much better," Jongdae said, letting out a breath as if he'd been holding it in a long time.
Without the festivities distracting his senses, Baekhyun took a moment to study the young prince. Earlier he'd only had time to notice Jongdae's welcoming smile—the one he'd directed at Chanyeol, Baekhyun recalled—but in the light of the moon now Baekhyun could see that it wasn't just his smile that stood out. There was something about the shape of his mouth itself, the way the upturns of his lips suggested contentedness even when the rest of his face was perfectly neutral. From this angle, Baekhyun could also see high, prominent cheekbones and dark, straight brows and a series of small marks that dotted his temples like constellations.
He was kind of lovely, Baekhyun thought with a hint of pride—certainly a visual match for his lord, King Junmyeon.
"—hyun? Uh, Sir Baekhyun?"
He blinked. "Yes?"
"I . . . were you list—? I mean . . ." Jongdae cleared his throat. "I was just saying how I wanted to apologize, again, for this afternoon."
Baekhyun frowned. "You don't have to do that. I already said it's nothing."
"Yes, but it doesn't feel like nothing," Jongdae pressed. "It feels like you're still upset with me, and I know we just met each other, but we're going to be spending a lot of time together, and I want us to get along. No, I want us to be friends."
Baekhyun blinked again. "Friends?"
"Yes!" Jongdae continued, not missing a beat. "Why not? You know, I think you're really cool. I mean, you're a knight. You have a code! You must have been to so many places and seen so many things and done so many things to get where you are. You must have saved so many lives and helped so many people. You must have so many stories to tell. That's amazing."
It was almost sweet, Baekhyun thought, how frankly idealistic Prince Jongdae was. Baekhyun, of course, held deep appreciation for the values of knighthood, and it was true that he'd contributed to a handful of worthy causes. At the end of the day, however, he was a soldier—an elevated soldier, indeed, but still one who served his liege for honor and for glory. And at the end of this mission, he was looking forward to his pension in the form of some land and title of his own—a different nobility than what the prince surely had in mind.
Now, Baekhyun wasn't petty enough to really hold a grudge over what happened that afternoon (he'd already forgotten about it the minute he lay down for a nap), but he was definitely a little shit enough to make Jongdae believe he did. Especially after encountering this unexpectedly naive side of the prince, he couldn't resist playing with him a little—just for fun.
"Ah, I don't know," he said after a long pause. Long enough that Jongdae started to squirm. Baekhyun hid a smile under guise of scratching his brow. "You . . . you really hurt my feelings."
"I'm sorry," Jongdae said again. It was fascinating, how quickly his excitement gave way to remorse. He looked truly regretful, and Baekhyun almost felt bad for what he was going to do. Almost. "I didn't mean to."
"It's not your fault," Baekhyun said graciously. "It's mine. Why couldn't I have grown as big and tall as Chanyeol? Look at me. It's no wonder you wouldn't think I'm a knight."
"It's not like that," Jongdae pleaded, his voice edging on desperation. "Honestly, I didn't even see you. He was standing—"
"Wow," Baekhyun said, looking down. "That's even worse. I'm so short you couldn't even see me."
"No! Look, why would I—we're the same height! I wasn't calling you short—"
"I guess it's true," Baekhyun continued with a deep sigh, turning away. "I'm just doomed to live in the shadow of my squire for the rest of my life. What's the point? Why don't I just quit now?"
"Oh my god," he heard the prince whisper under his breath. "What is going on?" Baekhyun's shoulders started shaking with muted laughter. "Kim Jongdae, you idiot, shut up shut up shut up."
Baekhyun snorted before he could catch himself and almost immediately felt a warm hand cupping his cheek, tilting his face up. He met Jongdae's inquisitive eyes, and that was it—like water bursting through a dam, his giggles spilled out uncontrollably.
"Yah!" Jongdae jumped up from the bench. The tips of his ears were turning red, and he looked at Baekhyun crossly. No, scratch that—he looked pissed.
"You're a . . . you're a clotpole!" he said.
"My apologies, Your Highness," Baekhyun said, coughing as he sobered up. He dipped his head. "I was just teasing. Please, forgive me—as I've long forgiven you. Promise." Baekhyun looked up again, extending what he hoped was a peace-offering smile.
Jongdae harrumphed indignantly and still looked a little irritated as he sat back down. After a minute, however, Baekhyun caught him smiling again.
"What?"
"Joke's on you," he said haughtily.
Baekhyun doubted it. "How?"
Jongdae slid closer, until his shoulder bumped against Baekhyun's. "Only my friends are allowed to tease me."
"Oh no."
"Yep." Jongdae nudged Baekhyun with his shoulder, once, then again. "Guess that means we're friends now."
"We just met," Baekhyun pointed out.
"I don't care."
"How about 'acquaintances'?"
"Nope."
"'Associates'?"
"What does that even mean?"
"I don't know," Baekhyun admitted.
Jongdae pouted. "What do you have against being my friend anyway? Unless you're still—"
"I'm not. Nothing, really. It's just . . . as my squire would say, we're kind of—kind of your, uh, babysitters."
"Babysitters!" Now Jongdae looked really offended.
"Not babysitters," Baekhyun amended quickly. It wasn't quick enough.
"Babysitters! I'm not a baby. I'm twenty years old!"
"I know," Baekhyun said, shuffling awkwardly. Actually, he hadn't known. He wasn't even sure how old Junmyeon was.
"But you could've said anything—you could've said bodyguard and I wouldn't have minded. But babysitters."
"Oh boy," Baekhyun said under his breath.
Jongdae stood up abruptly. "Forget it. You know, you are a clotpole, and I don't care to be friends with you anymore. Good night, Sir Baekhyun, I'll see you on the morrow."
Baekhyun rubbed his temple as he watched the prince walk away.
It was going to be a long road back to Seoul.