memoir of a nuisance

When Beomgyu was around nine years of age, Queen Eunyoung’s father, Commander Myungsoo of House Kang, passed away.

He oversaw one of the most legendary sea battalions in all of Korea, second hand man to the late King Shinseok and an honorable, fierce man that many respected. His death was a peaceful one, passing away in his sleep on a quiet, winter night.

But the North still mourned heavily and so did the majority of the land. They held his funeral shortly after and the entirety of the House Choi attended.

That winter, eleven years ago, is one that still lives on vividly in his thoughts. It was the first time he had traveled anywhere outside of Hanyang, trailing alongside his mother and the rest of the Queen’s entourage.

He remembers seeing the sight of snow so thick & white that seemed to trail on for miles upon miles, he remembers eyeing the vastness of the spruce and pine trees that shrouded their city and its overwhelming scent.

He remembers seeing the other noble houses all together for the first time and his mother would explain to him who each person was and why they were important, how each person had something lovely and genuine to say about Kang Myungsoo, how the Queen and her family spoke of him with such love and care, something Beomgyu had never heard before.

He remembers that trip in its entirety, for it was the first time in his life that he had realized something about himself, something that would haunt him for years to come.

And this thought came to him that winter night, as he stood near the edge of the grand hall, watching the nobles gather around the Commander’s portrait.

The hall was filled with stories of his bravery, his kindness, his unwavering loyalty to the crown. Laughter blended in with tears as they recounted moments that painted Kang Myungsoo as a man deeply loved by those who knew him. 

As they celebrated the life of a well-respected commander, as nobles and people came together in harmony and peace to honor someone they loved, even as the cold, freezing air nipped at their skin and the snow piled in each night. Beomgyu, nine years old and unafraid, thought to himself this:

Who will speak of me so kindly when I die? 

And he pondered this as he continued to watch these people muddled with grief and an affectionate nostalgia. Beomgyu who was so small and unnoticed, just stood and observed, clutching his cloak tighter against the biting cold that had seeped into his clothes. 

He looked around to see his mother, standing beside the Queen, looked composed as always; she was ever-devoted to her role, to the Queen’s needs and family. But not once did her gaze search for him.

He had stood there for hours, the chill numbing his fingers and toes, watching his mother fuss over the Queen’s eldest son, Crown Prince Yeonjun and his cousin, Lord Taehyun, as they came back inside from playing in the snow.

He watched as she tucked the boy’s scarf tighter around his neck, brushing stray snow from his hair. She spoke to them softly, reassuringly, with a tenderness he hadn’t realized she was capable of.  When they sniffled from the cold, she crouched to meet their eyes and comforted them with an affection that deeply hurt to see. 

The thought came to him again, this time a bit different yet still quiet, almost hesitant: … Maybe she will speak of me so kindly when I die?

And as the night wore on, as the grand hall emptied and the last of the mourners departed, leaving only the Queen and her closest companions, Beomgyu felt the weight of his own irrelevance. His mother passed by him without a glance, her hands full of linens meant for the royal’s quarters.

He watched how King Hyunseok held his wife in one of his arms, stroking her arm in comfort as their children clung to her skirt, and she smiled at them, holding them close to her as a family would in a time of grief.

And that was when the thought shifted into the one that has stuck with him since, appearing as the bitter cold settled into his hands and bones:

Will anyone even speak of me at all?

It was no longer a question of who would speak of him kindly, rather would anyone remember him, this invisible child who stood silently at the edges of life, watching as it unfolded around him but never truly for him? Would anyone mourn his passing, or would his life, like his presence now, slip away unnoticed?

He did not know the answer.

These realizations struck him like the winter wind, cold and merciless. The world, he realized, did not see him. Even the woman who had given him life seemed to save her love, her care for those who were more deserving in her eyes. And if his own mother could not see him, then who would?

That winter, in the quietness of his nine year old heart, Beomgyu learned what it meant to be lonely. Truly, achingly lonely.

Not the kind of loneliness that came from being alone, but the kind that came from being surrounded by people who didn’t see you. Who didn’t care to see you.

It was a lesson he would carry for the rest of his life, etched into him like frost biting into bare skin.

———

With a quiet gasp, Beomgyu arose from his bed, sweat beading down the sides of his forehead.

Closing his eyes, he saw that thick, white snow & felt the memory of the winter air numb his body for a split second. Why am I thinking of such a time now? He thought to himself, bringing his hand up to his chest and feeling how his heart beat almost erratically. 

Shaking his head, the omega stood up and walked towards the small desk in his quarters. Where he resides are rooms usually meant for lower ranking guests, but they are close to the prince’s chambers which is why he lives in them now.

It’s definitely an upgrade from the thin padding he laid on, at least these floors are heated, the bed full with more feathers, and an actual mirror rather than his rust bowl that he grew attached to.

Sitting down, Beomgyu stared into his reflection, the soft light of the morning sun shimmering through the paper blinds. It was dim, but the mirror showed enough. His sharp jaw, rosy cheeks, full lips; his brown hair had grown out a bit, now reaching slightly under his ears. 

“Should I trim it a bit?” He muttered to himself, touching the end strands of his locks.

Flashes of a certain alpha and his orders to cut his hair played in his head, and he couldn’t help the frown that grew on his face. Nevermind, I shouldn’t cut it, he thought stubbornly.

It’s been five days since he last saw the Crown Prince, and October had welcomed the land in all its beauty. The sprawling trees throughout the royal grounds have already turned into mirages of red, yellow, orange; leaves scattering with the wind and autumn truly settling in.

And these days, Beomgyu feels as if he’s playing a waiting game for his punishment. 

Thinking back on it, any normal servant would grovel and beg forgiveness, blame it on their poor mental health, and try to spare themselves from the wrath of the Royal Family. But Beomgyu, for the first time in his life, felt so strongly about his words that he won’t mutter not even a single apology. 

Because the truth is what he said: he would rather die than continue serving the crown prince.  

He knows it's an extreme thought; if he were to rant to Nakyoung or Lady Jangmi about this sentiment, he knows they would not understand. They are filial servants, they know their role and place, and do not set expectations beyond that. But they haven’t lived the life he has lived and experienced the rejection from the world and its people so harshly. 

Beomgyu has been overly aware of his place in this world since the moment he was able to perceive it. And he has spent his life accepting it, dealing with it, taking it cruelly. And in a twisted way, the fact that he had certain expectations, certain preconceptions due to his rank and status seemed to be the only thing that anchored him to life.

There was no room for anything else to grow; no room for love, no room for freedom; no room for hope. 

But Yeonjun…Yeonjun changed everything .

For a brief moment, he allowed the omega to believe just for a second that he was cared for. That he would be protected.

He showed him the weight of the crest on his shirt, the symbol of the House of Choi, he allowed room for hope to grow. Hope is a dangerous thing, and when you show it to someone who has never been allowed it, well, you only leave room for disappointment. 

Beomgyu still couldn’t wrap his head around it, these past few days, it was all he thought about. Whenever he closes his eyes, he can vividly recall the image of the frustrated alpha, holding back so many thoughts and words. He knew that Yeonjun had his reasons for acting the way he did, for changing up, for lying the way he did. But he also knew that the prince would never tell him those reasons, no matter if he grovelled and begged at his feet.

It was a confusing, almost demeaning thing to dwell on, because truthfully the prince didn’t owe him anything.

Therefore these past few days, he chose to do nothing for the man instead of trying to seek out the truth. If he did go to the prince, it would only show a pathetic and desperate side of himself that he refused to let out. So he avoided the prince like a plague, forfeiting his duties.

Beomgyu had lost all hope for them and he honestly was painfully tired of it all. Tired of the life he lives, tired of the treatment he received, tired of isolating loneliness he feels. Death would be kinder to me than life ever was , is a thought that haunted him, imprinting itself in his actions. 

It is what he thinks as he stares into the mirror at his own reflection. A pretty face, Lord Jaeyun said and so have many others. Maybe that is true, he wouldn’t truly know for all he sees in his reflection is a man he cannot recognize, a man he does not wish to be.

The face staring back at him is hollow, stripped of any warmth or light. He leaned closer to the mirror, searching for something, anything, that might allow him to see the person he wanted to be. The person who, despite everything, still believed in the possibility of being loved.

But there is nothing.

Beomgyu lowered his head and pressed his palms flat against eyes, his chest tightening. It’s suffocating, this feeling that eats at him like a slow-burning fire. He tilts his head, almost mockingly, at his own reflection.

A pretty face, he thinks bitterly, And what good has it done me?

Yeonjun made him believe, if only for a moment, that someone could care. That he could care. But even that had slipped away hadn’t it? And as much as he wants to hate the man for it, a large part of him hates himself more for having hoped, for wanting something he knew since the beginning he could never have.

And as continued to stare into his reflection, he felt an embarrassing pang of something else. Not at Yeonjun, not at the world, but at himself. That there was still a part of him that clings to hope, still wishes for kindness, still dreams of being loved.

It’s a cruel, relentless thing, this hope— it refuses to leave, no matter how much he wants it to .

And so he tears himself away from the mirror, his heart pounding against the cage of his ribs. His fists clench at his sides, I am tired, he thinks as he closes his eyes.

Because root of the root, Beomgyu just wanted someone to care. And he hated himself for wanting it. And he hated Yeonjun, how he allowed for the foolish hope that he could be, to fester; Yeonjun also allowed for that hope that he could be, to die.

———

The morning sun hung low in the sky and autumn chill lingered in the air as Beomgyu’s trudged across the courtyard.

His hands were numb despite the thin layer of fabric covering them, and he adjusted the hem of his worn jeogori to shield himself from the wind. The days had blended into one another and though his duties as a servant kept him busy, the void left behind gnawed at him in the same way it did when he was a personal servant to the prince.

He not only was avoiding the prince, honestly, he was avoiding everyone. He spent his time simply doing things he felt fit, whether that be helping out in the gardens, running errands for others on the royal grounds, quite literally anything but being near Yeonjun.

Today he decided to clean the storage house—a space tucked at the farthest edge of the crown prince’s palace. Dust swirled with each step he took, a faint sunlight spilling through the cracked wooden slats of the walls.

The storage house was quiet as Beomgyu begun working for hours, his fingers raw from scrubbing wooden shelves, floors, organizing everything. His shoulders ached and his back screamed for relief, but the quiet here was preferable to the suffocating weight of the palace.

He thought he was alone until he heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind him. Turning, he froze.

Lady Jangmi stood in the doorway, her figure framed by the soft sunlight filtering through the cracks. Her expression was unreadable, as it so often was, but there was something in her dark eyes that unsettled him.

“Beomgyu,” Her voice rumbled throughout the small space, “Did you truly think you could avoid me forever?”

Beomgyu quickly set aside the cloth in his hand, “I apologize, my lady,” he murmured & bowed his head.

He straightened but avoided her eyes, he had been dreading this. He had been avoiding everyone, but especially her. He didn’t want to face her and even being in her presence, he began to feel ashamed.

Lady Jangmi was an incredibly intelligent woman, there was no need for her to preen and question, she already understood. He knew she already knew everything because that’s the type of person she is, someone who understood the world they lived in more deeply than anyone else.

And Beomgyu knew she was here to remind him of his actions, of his impertinence, and he couldn’t help but feel shame for it because, truthfully, he had grown to truly respect and care for her. And the thought of disappointing her, pained him.

He heard her take a deep sigh, “I will cut to the chase for you know why I am here. You do understand what will happen to you for this?”

Her tone was not accusatory but it was piercing enough to cut, “For your negligence to the Crown Prince and the House of Choi?”

He swallowed hard, his throat dry, “Yes, I do.” he replied tersely.

“Then you also understand that you will be executed.”

She stepped further into the room, her eyes fixed on him,

“You will die, Beomgyu, and yet you still continue to work and do nothing to change your fate.”

Beomgyu’s lips parted, but no words came. What could he say? That he welcomed it? That he was tired, so unbearably tired, that the thought of death was not so frightening? He looked away, his hands clenching at his sides.

“I know,” he said finally, his voice cracking, “I understand the consequences of my actions and I’m prepared to accept them.”

Jangmi look at him in silence for a long moment, the air between them thick with tension. A part of him wants to think over the past weeks, she too has grown to like him but he doesn’t think she no longer does.

How could she? How could she when he has done nothing but failed to fill out his duties for the past few days, for forsaking everything she taught him?

But, unexpectedly, her expression became a bit more sullen, though her voice remained firm, “Do you know why I was afraid when I heard you were assigned as the prince’s personal servant?”

“Because…I’m an omega.” Beomgyu replied, thinking back to their first conversation they had when he stepped on these grounds. 

She shook her head, “No, it was never about that,” she admitted, “Nor was it because of your bastardness or whatever anyone has to say about you and your rank.”

“Then…why were you afraid, my Lady?” He asked almost too quietly.

He saw how Lady Jangmi hesitated for a second, and for some reason, that saddened him just slightly. He was tired of seeing people bite their tongue, holding things back from him. But then she spoke words he never expected to hear.

“My fear stemmed from your mother.”

His head snapped up, his heart thudding painfully in his chest at the thought of the woman, “My mother?” he echoed, his voice barely audible.

Lady Jangmi took another step closer, never taking her eyes off of him, “Yes, your mother and my old coworker, ChoiHyejung.”

And Beomgyu ignored the way his chest clenched at hearing her given name, at the last name the Queen bestowed upon her but not him. 

“You know, I have spent my life observing those who dwell in these halls. It is my duty as a royal caretaker to know people and their natures. And your mother…”

She paused, as if speaking on it unsettled her, as if she weighing her words carefully,

“Do not think for one second I never noticed the way your mother treated you, her only child.”

Beomgyu felt as if the ground had been pulled out from under him.

No one had ever spoken of his mother so plainly, so openly. Her neglect was a wound he had carried silently, a burden he had never dared to name and hearing it laid bare like this felt excruciating.

She continued, “I have cared for children my entire life and I know well enough that no child could withstand such treatment and turn out normal, unscathed. And, as crude as this may sound and given your past with the prince, I feared you would be incapable of serving him well.”

Beomgyu struggled to form any words, his mind racing with millions of thoughts that he could not decipher.

“I…” His voice caught in his throat, “I do not know what to say, my Lady.” is what he settled on saying because he truly did not know how to respond. 

What do you say to someone who never had high expectations for you in the first place? Someone who you have already disappointed? Her words pierced him, each one settling heavily in his chest. He stared at her, his throat tight, his heart aching with a mix of emotions he could not untangle.

Lady Jangmi’s expression softened further at the sight of the male spiraling,

“Do not misunderstand, I know that you have endured more than most, Beomgyu. And though you may not believe it, I have seen the strength it takes to carry such burdens.”

Beomgyu blinked rapidly, his vision blurring, he wanted to escape the entire conversation in its entirety, never having anyone speak to him so bluntly and so validating of his experiences.

“And despite my past misconceptions, my prejudices against your mother,” She paused, her tone softening so kindly and gently, “...I find that not only are you an exceptional servant, but also that I worry for you.”

Beomgyu felt the words crash over him like a wave leaving him unmoored. His breath hitched as his chest tightened, battling against the numbing ache that had long resided there. How does one answer to kindness when it feels more foreign than cruelty?

“You… worry for me?” he echoed as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile truth of her words.

His eyes flicked to Lady Jangmi’s face, searching for any trace of insincerity but there was none—only a quiet, earnest warmth.

“How could I not?”

He swallowed hard and felt his throat burn, “I don’t…” His voice broke, and he looked away, ashamed of the tears welling in his eyes, “I don’t know what to say.”

Lady Jangmi watched him carefully, “Then do not say anything,” she replied gently, her tone almost maternal, “But listen to me, Beomgyu. There is something you must do.”

He looked up at her cautiously, body tensing at the prospect of what she would ask of him.

“You must go to the crown prince,” She spoke with urgency in her voice, “You must apologize, Beomgyu. For your sake, if not for his. Swallow your pride, face the consequences, and try to make amends. It is the only way.”

Beomgyu’s heart sank and he instinctively shook his head,, “No,” he whispered resolutely, “I cannot.”

“You must,” She insisted, her presence felt more commanding than ever, “Do you not understand that your life currently hangs by a small thread?”

“I understand everything completely, but it is already too late. What use is an apology now? It will change nothing.”

Lady Jangmi’s lips pressed into a thin line, frustration flickering in her eyes,

“You speak as if you are beyond redemption. Do you truly believe that the prince is so unyielding, so incapable of forgiveness? Or is it that you are too afraid to face him?”

Beomgyu flinched at her words, “I am not afraid of him,” he argued back before softening, “You must know how… tired I am, my Lady. If death is to be my punishment, then so be it. At least it will be an end of it all.”

A moment of silence bestowed upon them again, he is glad that she is a beta for it not she would smell his scent that blared of pain, of exhaustion and hurt.

And he watched how her shoulders sank slightly as if the weight of his words settled heavily upon her, a similar effect weighing in his own soul as he voiced his thoughts for the first time.

“Beomgyu,” she said quietly, almost pleading, “I cannot pretend to know the full extent of your pain, but I do know that despite everything, here you stand. That is not the mark of a coward—it is the mark of someone who still has a chance, whether they see it or not.”

“I have no chance,” he replied, ignoring how her words stirred something within, “If I go to him now, it will only prove how pathetic I am.”

Jangmi regarded him for a long, silent moment, “If you choose to give up now then you are condemning yourself to the very fate you already fear the most.” Forgotten.

Her words struck a chord and for a fleeting moment, he felt the urge to believe her, to hope. But the crushing weight of his self-doubt and despair smothered it almost instantly. He lowered his head, 

“I appreciate your words, my Lady, you are far too kind to me than you should be,” he muttered, before looking into her eyes,  “But I cannot do as you ask. I have already made my choice.”

Jangmi sighed, the sound heavy with resignation,  “As you wish,” she said quietly, though there was no anger in her tone, only sadness,

“The next time I see you, I surely hope it won’t be at your own execution. I hope that you…realize what is best for you, for once.”

With that she turned and left the shed, and Beomgyu stood there for a long time, staring at the space where she had been, her words replaying in his mind. Although his back ached, fingers hurt, wind chilled his skin, he could not care for that, no, not after such a conversation.

It seems as if these days all he has are conversations that torture him mentally.

Her voice echoed in his mind, The next time I see you, I surely hope it won’t be at your own execution.

The image her words conjured was disturbingly vivid: his head bowed before the court, the whispers filling the hall like vultures circling a dying man. He swallowed hard, the metallic taste of death creeping onto his tongue.

He turned his eyes to the small window across the room, where he spotted the fading light of the sun in the late afternoon.  The beauty of it felt almost mocking, that the world continued to move forward even as he stood still in his own suffering.

What is best for me, she had said. How could she possibly understand? How could anyone know what was best for him when he didn’t even know himself?

The truth of it gnawed at him: Lady Jangmi’s kindness, her rare warmth, her insistence that he has a chance to become better—it felt like a cruel joke.

It seems though as any type of care comes in moments where he wishes he hadn’t got it. Where had that care been when he was a child, longing for his mother’s affection? Where had it been when he was assigned to serve a prince who despised him?

Beomgyu closed his eyes and exhaled shakily, buried beneath his bitterness there was thought of what if she’s right?

BIf Lady Jangmi’s words held even a shred of truth, then he had to confront the possibility that he had given up too soon. That perhaps, in some small way, he still had a chance to reclaim his life and that possibility terrified him far more than the certainty of his own downfall.

He let out a mirthless laugh, “A chance,” he muttered under his breath, the word tasting foreign and absurd on his tongue.

No, he stood resolute in his thoughts, there is no chance as long as Yeonjun continues to be my prince.

The minutes ticked by, the room growing colder as the sun began to dip below the horizon and soon enough he went back to what he did best.

The next few days passed in a similar haze, each moment blending into the next as his thoughts consumed him. 

He went through the motions of his duties, though his hands trembled more often than not. In the evenings, Beomgyu would sit alone in the servants’ quarters, staring blankly at the uneven wooden table before him.

His fellow servants gave him a wide berth, their hushed conversations ceasing whenever he came near. The isolation did not sting the way it once might have. Now, it felt inevitable. Not even Lady Jangmi or Nakyoung sought him out.

Something else that weighed on his mind at this time was the thought of Queen Eunyoung; a woman who he considered to be a second mother.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her gentle smile, the way she tilted her head when she listened, truly listened, to him. She had been a source of solace in a world that had offered him little kindness, treating him as more than just a servant or an omega.

What would she do when she found out? Would she defend him? Would she even be allowed to?

Beomgyu knew the intricacies of palace politics all too well; even the Queen’s influence had limits, especially when it came to matters of treason. Still, the thought of her disappointment pierced him like a blade, sharper than any punishment the court could deliver.

And then there was his mother, he thought of her too. Some morning he would feel the need to walk to the infirmary, to see her, speak with her, but he couldn’t bring himself too. A part of him knew she wouldn’t care at all. She would not mourn him, no, she’d see his death as an inconvenience, something to be ashamed of.

At night, as he lay on the feather filled mat in his quarters, Beomgyu’s mind refused him peace. The quiet of the palace pressed against his ears and amplified the chaos within. Every step he took felt like walking toward his death, the noose tightening with each passing moment.

And as each day passed since that night, the certainty of his impending death settled deeper into his bones. It wasn’t fear that consumed him but a hollow sort of acceptance. He replayed Lady Jangmi’s words in his mind, dissecting them and weighing their truth.

You will be executed for this , she had said as if stating the weather.

And Beomgyu knew it to be true. Any person who disobeys the command of a royal or forfeits their duties, well, those are actions of treason, disloyalty, cowardness. His death is not a question, but a date soon to come. 

By the eighth day, every sound felt amplified; the scrape of a broom against the floor, the clang of dishes in the kitchen, the distant chatter in the halls. Life went on around him and he was unsure where his life would end.

That winter, eleven years ago, Beomgyu thought: Who will speak of me so kindly when I die? And now, he knows that no one will.

The answer to that question was not sudden—it had crept into his consciousness over the years and now, it sat like a stone in his chest, heavy and immovable, its edges sharp and cutting with every thought.

No one would mourn him , he thought. No one would tell stories of his life, of the moments he had endured, the quiet battles he had fought against a world that seemed intent on breaking him.

There would be no grand funeral, no gathering of voices speaking his name with reverence. His death would be an afterthought, just another day in this world.

And Beomgyu moved through his days with this knowledge lodged firmly in his mind. Each night, as he lay on the mattress, he stared at the ceiling and thought of that winter eleven years ago.

He remembered the snow covered fields, the brightness of the lanterns, the sound of voices raised in fond remembrance of a man who had lived a life worth celebrating. And he thought of himself, standing at the edge of that gathering, a small boy with wide eyes and a quiet longing he did not yet understand.

Now, he understood. And the understanding burned.

When the question had changed: Will anyone speak of me at all?

The answer, he knew now, was no. 

And that, he thought, was fitting.

———

On the twelfth day since everything fell apart, something unexpected happen.

The date read October 8th and the day began like every other, the morning air was crisp from the rain showers that fell the night before, cooling the sky as the wind carried the bite of autumn, and Beomgyu rose just as the sun did to begin his duties.

He avoided the parts of the palace, those halls of the prince’s quarters were now forbidden territory, and though no official decree had been made, Beomgyu knew better than to tempt fate.

The hours slipped by, sunlight moving its way over the royal grounds and by late afternoon, he had finished the last of his tasks and made his way to his room.

The air inside was stale, heavy with the scent of damp wood and honey mixed in with orange.

Beomgyu pushed open the door and stepped inside, already shedding the outer layer of his jeogori as he prepared for a quick bath.

His mind was on the warm water he would fetch from the kitchens, but suddenly a seeping shudder went down his spine, instincts alert as if he was being watched, and a meager waft of a familiar cinnamon blended with cedarwood hit his nose, burning from the outside in.

Then he saw it— him.

Yeonjun.

He was sitting there, perched on the edge of the single chair by the small, worn desk. He leaned on his hand, elbow propped up on the surface, his eyes trained intently on Beomgyu.

The faint light of the setting sun filtered through and Yeonjun’s face looked like a painting come to life, every detail vivid: the sharp line of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the swirling emotions behind his gaze.

Beomgyu froze in the doorway, his discarded shirt hanging limply in his hand.

Neither of them spoke and the silence stretched taut between them. And the alpha was the one to break it. His voice was low, steady, yet carrying an edge of something that made the brown haired male’s stomach twist.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Beomgyu.”

The way he said his name struck him, and he felt the jeogori slipping from his grasp and landing on the floor with a soft thud. He found himself unable to speak, and he could only stare at Yeonjun, at the way the prince’s dark eyes bore into his, unrelenting and oppressive.

Beomgyu felt as though he were standing at the edge of a precipice, the ground beneath him crumbling away and Yeonjun was the one holding the rope.

———

Beomgyu hadn’t always hated Yeonjun, no, there was a very short time when the prince was kind to him.

It was the first time he met the boy.

It was a spring afternoon, the kind where the air smelled of cherry blossoms, their petals drifting through the palace grounds .

Beomgyu was seven years old, his small hands clutching a broom far too large for his frame, assigned to sweep the courtyard where the Queen’s children often played. He hadn’t seen the prince or any of them up close before, not in any way that mattered.

Most of them were out of reach, untouchable. Yeonjun, who was two years older than him, was confined by the layers of protocol and invisible barriers that separated royals from servants.

But that day Yeonjun stepped out from the pavilion, figure like a royal from one of the old stories the handmaidens used to tell. His black hair, already too long for someone so young, framed a face that was striking even then. The clothes he wore were embroidered with golden dragons, gleaming in the sun.

Beomgyu had looked up, broom paused mid-sweep and for a brief moment their eyes met. He remembers how the young prince stared at him with an expression that was sharp, as though he could see right through him.

It was the first time Beomgyu saw how the young alpha had a way of making everything feel intense.

“You missed a spot,” Yeonjun had said with the confidence of someone who had never been wrong in his life.

The young omega had flushed with the tips of his ears burning. He muttered an apology, hastily returning to his task, sweeping furiously at an invisible spot the prince had pointed out.

But then, Yeonjun laughed. It was a bright, carefree sound that rang out like a melody and Beomgyu was caught off guard by the warmth in the prince’s voice.

When he glanced up again, he found Yeonjun crouched down beside him, a mischievous grin playing on his lips as he twirled a cherry blossom between his fingers,

“You don’t have to sweep so hard,” he said with a playful tone, “The petals will just fall again tomorrow.”

Beomgyu had blinked, unsure of how to respond. No one had ever spoken to him like that before. Everyone else was always so stern, so focused on work, but Yeonjun seemed unbothered like he existed in a world of his own, free from the rules that governed Beomgyu’s life.

“What is your name?” The elder had asked, he was only nine years old but the way he spoke was more regal than anything the omega had ever heard.

“It is B-Beomgyu, my Prince.” he stammered while bowing so low that he nearly toppled over.

Yeonjun tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly, “You’re…Lady Hyejung’s son, right?”

“Yes, my Prince,” He nodded, his cheeks burning as he felt the weight of the prince’s gaze linger just a moment longer than necessary.

It was like the world had paused, just for that fleeting instant.

Then Yeonjun had walked over to one of the trees and plucked a single blossom from the branches, its soft petals almost glowing against his fingertips.

He had turned back toward Beomgyu, his expression almost shy, “For you, Beomgyu,” he had said quietly, offering the flower.

The moment had stunned him. Beomgyu had taken the flower with his small hands, unsure whether to thank the prince or to run away, unsure of what any of this meant. The sudden warmth from the prince was so alien to him, so unlike everything he had come to expect.

Yeonjun had smiled once more, that bell-like laugh escaping his lips, and then he turned and walked away without another word.

But Beomgyu never forgot that moment— the moment the prince had looked at him with something like kindness. It felt like an anomaly in a world where everything else was harsh and unforgiving.

What happened after that, though, was what Beomgyu could never quite understand.

Yeonjun, the boy who had handed him a blossom and laughed so brightly, had become someone else entirely.

Somewhere along the way, the kindness faded and was replaced by cruel taunts, biting remarks, and the sharp, icy edge of a boy who had grown into his royal power. The teasing had escalated slowly & painfully. Each year they grew, especially after they presented, the prince became relentless and Beomgyu could never make sense of it.

He didn’t understand why the prince or anyone would act this way. But these past few days, he has come to realize a pattern. It was ironic, how the boy would come to him with a kindness that vanished with time—like flowers plucked from a tree only to wither away.

He would show a flash of tenderness in quiet moments, only to turn it cold when it mattered most. Beomgyu couldn’t understand it for the life of him.

But that was Yeonjun, wasn’t it? And now as Beomgyu stood in the same room with the prince, he knew one thing for certain: no matter what, Yeonjun will never change. He never has.

———

The silence between them was suffocating and Beomgyu felt like he could scarcely draw breath.

Yeonjun remained seated, refusing to look away, steady and oppressive as if he could pin Beomgyu to the floor with his eyes alone.

Beomgyu looked away, he couldn’t handle it and didn’t dare meet Yeonjun’s eyes, not with the raw intensity radiating from the alpha, not with the scent of cedarwood and cinnamon curling through the air like smoke, heady and overpowering.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said.” Yeonjun spoke as if the very act of speaking these words cost him something, “Thinking about it for days now.”

Beomgyu swallowed hard, his throat now felt as dry as sand. He didn’t respond & didn’t dare to move, to look up. The prince’s words were so short and simple yet they sent an involuntary shiver down his spine, he was not sure what to expect from this conversation.

“You were right,” He admitted after a moment,

“I do not understand you… I know very little about you at all . And nor do you understand or know me. The more I think about it, the more I realize that is where our problem lies.”

Beomgyu’s shoulders stiffened, keeping his distance from the prince in the chair. But he hadn’t expected an admission. This is something he realized long ago, that their differences and that their little knowledge of each other is what dooms them, but hearing it come out of the prince’s mouth was still shocking.

Still, he refused to look at Yeonjun, his gaze fixed stubbornly on the worn wood of the floor.

“I am crown prince,” Yeonjun continued, his voice filled with conviction, “It is my duty to uphold the laws of this kingdom, to punish those who transgress. You, above all, have given me every reason to make you pay.”

And the omega felt his breath caught, his heart lurching painfully in his chest. There it was—the confirmation of everything he had already expected. The death that awaited him, that sung its sweet song to him, here Yeonjun was about to sentence him to his faith that perhaps he longed deserved.

He knew this was coming but he cannot deny the pang of fear he felt in the reality of it.

“But I...” The prince faltered if the words were stuck in his throat. He exhaled sharply, “I cannot bring myself to do it.”

Beomgyu’s head snapped up at that, his dark eyes wide with shock. For a moment, the room felt impossibly small and he couldn’t help his words of confusion escape. If he wasn’t here to sentence him to death, then what else could it be? 

“Then why are you here, your Majesty?” he questioned in a soft tone but the bite in his words wasn’t overlooked,

“What is it that you want from me? I thought I made myself quite clear—”

“I want to be better.” 

Yeonjun interjected so firmly that it immediately silenced the omega’s thoughts and feelings, a pair of words that he never knew could leave the prince’s mouth. 

Suddenly the alpha stood up and took two steps towards the frozen male, continuing his words with some restraint in his voice as if he’s never laid out his feelings like this,

“I want to… understand you and change the way things are between us.”

Beomgyu flinched, his composure faltering for just a moment before he turned his head away, knowing he had no place to run to as the prince neared him so he chose to continue looking away.

“You’re wasting your time.” Beomgyu replied tersely, “I have no need for your pity or your guilt, Your Majesty.”

And then suddenly, he could feel the warmth radiating off of the alpha’s body, the scent of cinnamon and cedarwood hitting his nostrils tenfold as he stood closer than he ever has before.

Silence overcame them and Beomgyu swore he could feel his heart thump in his ears, refusing to look up towards the prince who invaded his every sense, who stood near him as if he wanted the omega to submit.

“Look at me,” Yeonjun spoke softly but with a sense of command that overpowered Beomgyu.

The brown haired male now felt his heart race wildly. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, his shoulders drawing tight as if to shield himself. His jeogori, which was thick and warm, was on the floor and he only stood in a thin shirt that swooped down to reveal his neck.

And feeling the presence of an alpha of Yeonjun’s caliber so close to his bare skin, well, he felt his omega weaken and he chose to ignore the way his own scent sweetened.

“Beomgyu,”  The prince called out again, his voice dropping to a near-whisper as if he could sense the change in scent, “Look at me.”

And it made Beomgyu’s stomach churn. His name was so rarely spoken with such tenderness and yet they fell from the prince’s lips like a plea. Slowly, hesitantly, Beomgyu turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto Yeonjun’s.

There was this never-ending intensity in the prince’s eyes that always took his breath away, but this time he felt stripped bare, every defense he had painstakingly built crumbling in an instant.

Yeonjun took a step closer and his eyes dropped, staring at the expanse of the omega’s collarbone, and Beomgyu saw how the alpha physically gulped. As the space between them narrowed to almost nothing, he knew his own scent of honey and orange blossom that had become almost airy and sweet must have hit the prince’s nose intensely.

And he watched how the prince then took a step backwards, and spoke once more,

“As your prince, let me… be better for you,” His voice was restrained, breaking just slightly, “It is the least you deserve after what I have done.”

And for some reason, those words made Beomgyu’s mind reel, anger suddenly flaring beneath the surface of his carefully maintained composure. Did he not get the hint already? Why won’t he just leave him alone?

For some reason, being treated as if he was something beyond the norm frustrated him, and he did not understand why the prince was acting this way.

“As my prince, you should know your duties,” he bit out somewhat harshly,

“Why don’t you treat me like you should with any servant who has acted as I have? Punish me, execute me if you must. I would prefer that than to continue to serve you.”

Yeonjun’s expression darkened, “You are not just a servant to me,” he said sternly, refusing to back down.

His hand then motioned to the pin that shone slightly on the jeogori on the floor, “That crest you bear every day proves you are more than just that.”

Beomgyu’s eyes flicked to the pin and something inside him snapped. He stepped forward, his movements sharp, and snatched the pin from the fabric. The cold metal bit into his palm as he held it up between them. 

“Then take it,” he said, voice trembling with rage and something he refused to name, “Take it.”

The prince’s eyes narrowed, his composure momentarily faltering as he stared at the pin in Beomgyu’s outstretched hand.

The room fell silent, the sound of the wind outside the only interruption  and Beomgyu’s chest heaved with panic as he realized what he’d done, the gesture meant he was forfeiting his tie to the House of Choi. The silence stretched unbearably. Had he gone too far? Was this the moment he finally crossed a line he could never return from?

But then Yeonjun reached out, his fingers curling around the pin with a surprising gentleness. He stared at it, his expression unreadable. 

“For days,” he said finally, speaking in a tone that he could not place, “I was not sure what to do with you. I’ve spent a long time hating your very presence and yet your words haunted me every night.”

His grip on the pin tightened, his knuckles turning white. 

“And I do not know why. I feel as if I know nothing at all, but—” He faltered, the same, old restraint evident in the strain in his neck and tone of his voice,

“But something tells me I cannot lose you, Beomgyu. Not like this.”

Beomgyu felt his breath stutter at the words, the walls he had so carefully built around himself threatening to crumble. Then, Yeonjun’s hand lowered, the pin still clutched tightly in his grasp.

“I will do whatever it takes to make this right. Even if you cannot forgive me, that’s fine too, I will not need it. Just know I will not give up.”

Then Beomgyu’s breath came in shallow gasps. His anger faltered and was now replaced by a torrent of confusion and an ache he couldn’t name, 

“You have acted this way since we were young, saying one thing and doing another. And now you ask this of me?” he whispered, “Yet you still offer no explanation for your behavior. How am I to trust you?”

Yeonjun’s eyes lifted to meet him and the vulnerability there made Beomgyu’s stomach twist.

“I will explain,” he promised, “One day, I will give you every answer you ask. But for now, I ask only for your trust.”

Beomgyu stared at Yeonjun, his chest rising and falling uneven;y. The prince's words lingered in the air, yet doubt clung to him like a second skin. Trust? After everything?

"And what do I get in return for trusting you, Your Majesty?" he asked, searching for something that would give him reason to believe.

Yeonjun hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, he looked like he might recoil but then his shoulders squared,

 "I will free you," he said at last, "When I become king, I will see to it myself. You will no longer be bound to this palace or this life."

Beomgyu’s felt his stomach drop at the words, completely taken aback by them, but he kept his expression carefully neutral, unwilling to betray the emotions the words had stirred within him. 

“And that is supposed to convince me?” he asked doubtfully, “Why should I believe you are saying that just to sway me?”

Yeonjun took a measured breath, as if weighing his words with the utmost care,

“Because I will compensate you,” he said, “You will have everything you are owed. Freedom, wealth, land if you desire it. You will not leave this place empty-handed, Beomgyu.”

Beomgyu stared at him, his mind racing. The promise was almost too much to comprehend, too good to be true. For so long, his world had been defined by servitude, by the chains that bound him to a life he never chose.

To hear Yeonjun speak of freedom was like hearing the first whisper of rain in a drought.

But doubt still clawed at him, a relentless voice in the back of his mind that warned against believing in the prince’s words, “And what do you want from me in return?” 

Yeonjun leaned forward, the movement slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving Beomgyu’s,

“I want you to stay,” he said, the words soft but unyielding, “I want you to serve me, not as you did before but as someone I can trust. Just be by my side, Beomgyu.”

The omega’s breath hitched, his heart pounding so loudly it drowned out all other sounds. The sincerity in the prince’s voice, the vulnerability in his gaze, it was almost too much to bear.

Beomgyu felt his resolve wavering and suddenly he began to ask himself:

Could he trust Yeonjun, a prince who had already shown him cruelty, with his future? Could he risk it all for a promise, one that could be broken as easily as it was made?

“What if you change your mind?” The omega murmured, “What if once you are king, you forget this promise?”

Yeonjun’s expression faltered and, for a moment, his eyes blazed with something fierce, something unyielding.

He cupped Beomgyu’s face in his hands, lifting his chin to meet his gaze, “I swear to you, I will not break this promise. On my bloodline, I swear it.”

The warmth of his hands on Beomgyu’s skin sent a shiver through the omega’s body, and he swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest.

He was too close for comfort already and the touch seemed to ignite a feeling he wouldn’t dare to name; the longer he held on his chin awaiting an answer, the more he felt his heart feel something that he knew would do nothing but bring him more harm, more pain.

“Then,” Beomgyu said quickly, his voice barely audible, “I will believe you, your Majesty. I hope to not regret it.”

“You won’t.” The Prince then let go of his face and then stepped away, distancing himself from the omega, “I’ll leave for now, Beomgyu. I shall see you tomorrow morning.”

And with that, he turned on his feet and left the male’s quarters. And Beomgyu stood there, unsure of what the fuck just happened . 

But he couldn’t help but wonder if this was the beginning of something new. Something dangerous. Something he could never escape, even if he wanted to.

———

The next morning, the autumn air felt still with the kind of quiet that only came with the earliest hours of the day.

Beomgyu could barely sleep the entire night, not only was he incredibly anxious for what was to come but also the mere scent of the prince, his pheromones, radiated intensely within his room. He tried opening the small window to ventilate the place, but it seems as though it only made the scent worse.

He ended up waking up extra early as well and just sat in his room, feeling like a ticking time bomb. That brought him to where he is now: standing outside Yeonjun’s chambers.

He hesitated outside the prince’s chambers, his hand hovering just above the heavy wooden door.  The faint scent of cedarwood still clung to him and the conversation from the night before played like a mantra in his head. Freedom, the prince had said. Freedom.

To think one thing Beomgyu had always wished for could only be attained through the man he hates the most in the world feels cruel, but life works in amusing ways like that.

Taking a deep breath, Beomgyu steadied himself and knocked lightly.

“Enter,” came Yeonjun’s voice.

Pushing the door open, Beomgyu stepped inside, his eyes immediately drawn to the prince laying on his bed. The bed was massive, covered and draped by see-through drapes and silks that decorated it elegantly.

The early morning light filtered through them and the silhouette of Yeonjun’s figure painted itself on the drapes.

He was in the clothes that go under a hanbok; a loose white shirt that hung untied, exposing the strong lines of his chest and the sharp jut of his collarbones.  His dark hair was unkempt, falling over his forehead in a way that softened his usually severe features.

Beomgyu felt his breath hitch for a moment, never seeing an alpha male so bare and soft like this. He quickly looked away, bowing low in deference, “Your Majesty.”

Yeonjun turned, his eyes meeting Beomgyu’s, and for a moment, the prince simply studied him. There was no malice, only the same intensity that felt exposing.

“You’re early,” Yeonjun remarked, not moving from his bed.

“I thought it best not to keep you waiting,” Beomgyu replied, keeping his tone neutral though his hands fidgeted at his sides, “What shall be my duties? Any letters you would like me to send or documents to be organized?”

The time he used to spend serving the prince, he really was his errand boy more than a servant. He never did any of the things he did for Queen Eunyoung with Yeonjun. A part of him sort of enjoyed that but also detested how isolating it made him feel, even the thought of those times sours him, a time where his loneliness only grew.  

“Oh no, Beomgyu, don’t worry about doing anything of that sort,” A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Yeonjun’s lips, “You will help me prepare for the day.”

The brown haired male blinked, caught off guard, “Prepare you?”

Yeonjun nodded, standing up and walking toward the folded hanbok laid out on a low table nearby, “Back then I would usually have other attendants arrive to do so, but I would rather you assist me.”

The request was simple enough but the weight of its implications settled heavily in the room. This is what he does best, truly, taking care of others, their needs, dressing them, bathing them, pampering them and handling their needs.

But the thought of doing that for Yeonjun was frightening. If he had been asked to assist him like this from the beginning, it wouldn’t have been a big deal, but much has happened between them since then so the weight of doing these new duties well only feels burdening. 

But the omega has lived a life of overcoming burdens and although he hesitates, he will do what the prince asks of him, a servant, for the sake of his future. For the sake of his freedom.   

With a steadying breath, Beomgyu stepped forward. He picked up the delicate layers of fabric, the robes of the royals were always finely embroidered and silky to the touch. He approached Yeonjun who had turned his back to him, his shoulders broader than any he’s ever seen.

Beomgyu worked as he knew how to, fastening the inner layers of the hanbok first.

His fingers brushed against Yeonjun’s skin as he adjusted the collar and the warmth of his skin beneath his touch sent a shiver through him. The proximity reminded him of the night before, the scent of cedarwood and cinnamon filled his senses, mingling with the faint tang of his own.

Yeonjun remained still though the omega didn’t miss the slight tension in his frame, the way his breathing seemed to deepen with each brush of Beomgyu’s hands.

When Beomgyu reached for the outer robe, his fingers trembled slightly. He draped it over Yeonjun’s shoulders, stepping closer to tie the sash at his waist. The motion brought them face-to-face and for a brief moment their eyes met.

That same, damned intensity in Yeonjun’s gaze was always startling. He stared as though he were trying to uncover every thought, every emotion the brown haired male had buried within himself.

“Does this discomfort you?” The alpha asked suddenly and Beomgyu could feel his breath on his own skin.

He swallowed hard, his fingers tightening on the sash, “It’s not my place to say, Your Majesty.”

Yeonjun tilted his head slightly, “It is now,” he murmured, “If I cannot understand your discomfort, then I have already failed.”

Beomgyu’s hands stilled, his heart pounding, “I’m not used to being close to you like this, Your Majesty” he admitted quietly, “It is not an issue of discomfort, it is just—”

He hesitated saying the words that sit on the edge of his tongue. Somehow it feels somewhat inappropriate or even taboo, to voice how his omega is severely overwhelmed by his presence. His first week in the palace was the worst, he could not adjust to the consistent presence of his pheromones.

Female alphas have just as strong pheromones, but for some reason, Queen Eunyoung’s scent always brought comfort, almost a maternal scent. The prince’s scent though, does not, his scent lights his veins on fire and sets his soul ablaze. 

“Just what?” Yeonjun prompted, he tilted his head slightly and looked at the omega in front of him. They were of similar heights, but somehow it still felt like the prince towered over the male.

Beomgyu felt his fingers tightening against the fabric he held, “I have told you before,” He thought back to when he ran into the alpha in his chamber on that rainy day, “I am unaccustomed to being close to… males who are alphas.” 

Yeonjun’s brow arched slightly, “Is it truly so different?” he asked, curious and measured, “How an omega feels around female and male alphas?”

Beomgyu thought about it for a second, it isn’t a question he has ever been asked before nor really truly thought about. His grip on the robe loosened as he glanced to the side, avoiding Yeonjun’s eyes because somehow speaking of it felt a bit embarrassing,

“It is… similar in some ways,” he spoke slowly, “but there is a reason omegas are traditionally only allowed to serve female alphas. It is not merely custom, I suppose it is also a psychological thing as well.”

“Psychological?” Yeonjun repeated, a faint note of skepticism in his tone, “Explain.”

Beomgyu swallowed hard, he could feel the prince’s eyes on him, not moving at once,

“Alpha pheromones alone are enough to unsettle any omega, but the presence of a male alpha that we are not used to being around, it can be even more… overwhelming. And beyond that, there is a sense of submiss…”

He trailed off, his face flushing as he realized he was ranting about something that he should speak carefully about.

Yeonjun stepped closer, his movements deliberate though not overtly intimidating. The scent of cedarwood and cinnamon grew stronger unintentionally,

“And have you felt this? With me?”

Beomgyu stiffened his pulse quickening as the memory of how when he first moved into the palace, the way his scent had lingered in the air and seemed to cling to his very skin, leaving him restless and agitated in ways he could not fully understand.

“Yes,” he admitted shyly, trying to ignore the way his ears seemed to flush red,  “Of course I have.”

A flicker of something unreadable passed across Yeonjun’s face—was it regret? Curiosity? Amusement? Beomgyu seriously couldn’t tell.

“And now?” Yeonjun asked, genuinely intrigued.

Beomgyu  glanced up, meeting Yeonjun’s gaze for only a moment before looking away again as his stomach churned,

 “Now I have grown accustomed to it but either way, if any omega was to get close to you…they’d find it difficult , your Majesty.”

The prince’s lips quirked into a faint smile, “Well I suppose that I could tell before.”

And the words made the brown haired male shiver, they were obviously an innuendo to the alpha’s somewhat promiscuous behavior at ties.

And then he asked a bit hesitant, “And have you ever been close to any other male alphas, Beomgyu?”

The question hung in the air and Beomgyu felt his chest tighten, his fingers curling into the fabric of the robe once more. He knows what the question implies, in fact, the prince had asked him something similar long ago. 

Tell me, Beomgyu, have you ever even felt the touch of man? Do you know what it’s like to be fucked?  He had asked him so crudely the night of the royal council dinner. And it is a question that makes his body flush and ears turn red. He never has and he doesn’t think he ever will.

He isn’t entirely a prude though, he has his heats and knows that feeling of pure desire of wanting to be touched, to be cared for, to feel pleasure coursing his veins. Older servants and handmaidens would always tell stories of their first times, of their experiences with men and women of all ranks, so he knows what those deeds entails.

But, still, he is twenty years old and has gone years without knowing any of it personally.

He shook his head slowly, finishing the last tie and smoothing out his hanbok to make sure he looks well presented,

“No, Your Majesty. You are the first.”

Silence fell between them but it was not the empty kind. It was charged, brimming with a newfound tension that seemed to crackle like lightning in the space between them. Beomgyu could feel the heat in the room somehow get hotter, and he took a step back to go and grab the headpiece the crown prince must wear. 

“Is that so?” Yeonjun finally spoke. His voice had an edge to it as though he were mulling over the implications of the male’s words.

Beomgyu nodded, reaching up to the headpiece on the prince’s head. And then he took another step back to admire the prince’s appearance. He is quite attractive, in a way that is spiteful and yet alluring. He has the spitting image of the queen’s face but the demeanor and build of his father, genes that he is blessed to have.

Then the prince stepped closer to even out the distance between them, and Beomgyu felt his heart pound so loudly in his ears he was certain the prince could hear it.

“Then I will take care not to overwhelm you,” Yeonjun murmured, his voice low and smooth, “Though I fear that may be difficult.”

Beomgyu felt himself swallow heavily, unsure of what the prince meant. In moments like this, he finds it difficult to hate the prince. No, what he feels is something he cannot name. Something akin to hate but something that his omega craves, and he does not understand it.

He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out, what would he even say? But Yeonjun then raised a hand, silencing him with a single gesture

“No need to say anything at all,” he spoke as if he could read his mind, the tension in the room easing but not disappearing entirely. He then walked towards the door, opening it,

“Let us begin the day, we have much to do.”

———

The sun was well above the horizon when Beomgyu followed Yeonjun through the palace gates, their steps echoing against the stone courtyard.

Servants and guards stepped aside, bowing low as the prince passed, but Yeonjun seemed oblivious to it all, his eyes fixed ahead. He walked as if the world bent to his will, which it did, but seeing it so up close was still shocking. It only reminds Beomgyu of how far the prince is from him, that they are worlds apart and will never interact.

“Stay close behind and don’t get lost,” Yeonjun spoke firmly, “We’re going to the village.”

“The village?” he repeated as if he hadn’t heard correctly.

“Yes, Hanyang. I’m not so sheltered as to ignore the lives of those outside these walls,” Yeonjun said with a faint smirk, “I have matters to attend to and you will accompany me.”

Beomgyu nodded and followed behind but his mind racing as something about Yeonjun’s demeanor felt different.

The streets of Hanyang always seemed to be alive with the vibrancy of morning. Merchants hollered over one another, their voices blending with the clatter of wheels on cobblestones and the occasional bark of a stray dog darting through the crowd.

And somehow Yeonjun strode through it all with an ease that surprised Beomgyu. The prince exchanged polite nods with shopkeepers and even stopped to inspect the wares at a few stalls, some people he greeted even more casually as if he was a regular in their shop or something.

“Your Majesty,” Beomgyu said tentatively as Yeonjun picked up a small wooden carving from one stand. It was shaped like a bear, the edges smoothed from careful craftsmanship,

“Why are we here? Surely your attendants or even I could have brought anything you needed.”

Yeonjun turned the carving over in his hands,  “Sometimes it is not about needing but seeing. How can I govern people if I never meet them?”

Beomgyu stared at him, startled by the sincerity in the prince’s tone. He hadn’t expected such words from someone he had always thought distant, imperious.

As Yeonjun continued through the market, Beomgyu found himself even more perplexed by the prince’s interactions. A small child bumped into Yeonjun, stumbling back with a gasp as she realized who she had collided with.

Instead of reprimanding her, Yeonjun down, brushing off her sleeves with a gentle smile and Beomgyu watched with confusion. This was not the Yeonjun he had come to know; the cold, commanding figure whose presence was as heavy as the first autumn frost. This was someone entirely different. 

He knew this side of Yeonjun existed but seeing it up close was entirely different. And the more he watched, the more Beomgyu realized he really did not understand the prince at all. He wanted to know more, to get answers.

To this day, he does not know why the prince abandoned him that one day, or why he is kind at times, cruel at others, why he says things that he cannot decipher. But he remembers that Yeonjun promised to explain in due time, so he will not push it, as much as he really wanted to.

As noon approached, they stopped at a tea house to rest.

The air inside the tea house was warm, thick with the scent of  leaves steeping in earthen teapots.

The low murmur of conversations blended with the clinking of porcelain cups. Beomgyu followed Yeonjun into the modest yet well-kept establishment, the wooden floor creaking beneath their feet as they moved deeper inside. The owner was a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense expression—looked up from behind the counter as they entered.

The woman’s smile was polite but distant, her eyes lingering on Beomgyu just a moment too long, as though she were quietly assessing him, noting the way his hanbok clung to his frame, the slightly untidy state of his hair, as if he didn’t belong in such a refined place.

It wasn’t an overt judgment, but there was something in the way she looked at him, something bitter and ugly

“Crown Prince Yeonjun,” she greeted, her voice sweet but formal, “What a rare pleasure. Please sit wherever you find comfortable. We have freshly brewed tea today. Would you prefer the jasmine or the oolong?”

Yeonjun, completely oblivious to the subtle tension in the air, smiled warmly, “Two cups of jasmine will do just fine, thank you.”

They settled into a small, private room on the top floor of the tea house. He sat across from the prince and felt his posture stiff. He has never sat at the same table as a royal nor had tea with them, but here he was. There was a strange sensation in the air, maybe the heat of the tea was too much for him, he thought.

“You’re quiet,” Yeonjun observed as their tea was brought to the table, “Unusual for you.”

Beomgyu straightened, feeling heat rise to his cheeks, “I— It’s not my place to speak unless spoken to, Your Majesty.”

Yeonjun chuckled, “And yet you’ve never been one to hold your tongue when it mattered.”

Beomgyu bristled slightly but couldn’t suppress a small smile at the teasing note in the prince’s voice. He didn’t say anything, and instead found himself watching the steam of the hot teacup,

“This place sells the finest jasmine tea, better than any in the palace.” The prince commented, watching the omega intently while swirling a spoon in his steaming cup of tea.

“Do you come here often?” He then asked, admiring the teacup patterned with a faint blue floral design.

“Whenever I come to Hanyang, I always make sure to stop by.” Yeonjun replied, taking the spoon out and then sipping on the tea.

Beomgyu then did the same, raising the cup to his lips and drinking the jasmine tea. It was sweet, sweeter than he had expected but very tasteful as well. It isn’t often that he gets to drink these sorts of things so he savored it. 

“My mother, the other day… she was nagging me about my schedule again the other day. And about you, wondering how things are going.” Yeonjun suddenly brought up, raising the tea cup back down on the table.

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow, a bit surprised, “She did the same to me a few weeks ago. Seems like neither of us can escape her inquiries.”

“Indeed,” Yeonjun replied, the hint of a smile curling at his lips, “She’s relentless. I suppose I should be grateful, though. No one else seems to care as much as she does.”

Beomgyu felt himself smile at the thought of the queen. He misses her rants, her overly detailed commands, her motherly concern in equal measure. The way her voice could soften when she scolded him, her presence felt like a much needed relief in a world of pain,

“She is a great mother to you and your siblings, your Majesty.” He noted before taking another sip.

There was a moment of understanding between the two though unspoken. It is without a doubt a huge reason why perhaps both of them feel and have felt compelled to understand one another, is to also appease the queen. She has never been shy about how much she cares for Beomgyu and dotes on him, and the same goes for her eldest son.

It is also the reason why Yeonjun saved him from the grip of the minister, the same reason why Beomgyu would wake up before the sun rose to tend to the prince. If she were to find out of the issues they’ve been having, she’d undoubtedly be upset. But Beomgyu wouldn’t dare tell her how lonely or disappointed he was, and he doesn’t know if Yeonjun would ever admit to anything he has ever done to her.

“You know,” Yeonjun started, breaking the silence, “I haven’t seen your mother in a while. How is she doing?”

The question took Beomgyu off guard. His heart skipped a beat and before he could stop himself, the sudden rush of emotions made his chest tighten. He shifted in his seat, fingers gripping his teacup a little too tightly. He forced a smile like a mask slipping into place.

“She’s… she’s doing fine,” Beomgyu answered vaguely, his voice faltering just enough that Yeonjun caught it, “I haven’t been able to see her recently, but I’m sure she is the same as ever.”

Not necessarily a lie, but not the entire truth. He hasn’t seen his mother in weeks, not since that night where she told him he was an embarrassment, that she was ashamed to be his mother.

For a very long time, Beomgyu always thought that no one knew of his mother’s behavior towards him. Certainly the queen did not nor did any of her family, none of them knew how cruel she was to him. When Lady Jangmi commented on him, that was the first time anyone had ever acknowledged her behavior and validated his experience.

But even now he finds it difficult to even speak about it.

“I’m sure we could find a time to go visit her. The infirmary isn’t too far from my palace—” Yeonjun began, but he was quickly interrupted.

“ No ,” Beomgyu snapped a bit too quickly, “I mean, she doesn’t like visitors much, especially if she does not know beforehand.”

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, “But surely she’d like to see her only son,” he mused as if he couldn’t imagine anyone turning down a visit from their child.

Beomgyu’s chest tightened further and he instinctively pulled his gaze away from the prince, biting the inside of his cheek,

“You would be surprised, your Majesty,” he replied, still being vague.

The prince’s brow furrowed in mild confusion, “But Beomgyu—”

“I really don’t think it would be a good idea,” Beomgyu cut in, more firmly this time. He cleared his throat, desperate to steer the conversation elsewhere, “I don’t want to trouble her.”

Yeonjun fell silent, the edges of his lips tugging downward slightly in a frown. But before he could push any further, the door to the tea house creaked open, and the owner approached their table

“More tea, Your Highness?” she asked, eyeing the two.

Beomgyu could sense as though she saw something… lacking in him. It wasn’t blatant, but there was something about her demeanor, something in the way she lingered on him, that told Beomgyu that she knew exactly who he was, even if he wasn’t the one she expected the prince to be with.

The life of an omega will never be an easy one, it  wasn’t the first time he’d encountered such looks, disapproving glances or hushed whispers, but it stung all the same.

“Yes, please,” Yeonjun replied casually, not even looking at the woman. His attention was focused entirely on Beomgyu, a slight crease forming between his brows.

The woman nodded, a final glance exchanged between them before she left. Once the woman had disappeared into the back, Yeonjun noted, “I suppose she’s not used to seeing a male omega with someone like me.”

“You noticed as well?

He thought Yeonjun was entirely oblivious to the subtle dismissal but apparently he was not, “Of course I did. But don’t let her bother you. You’re more than worthy of my company.”

The words hung between them for a moment, but Beomgyu couldn’t bring himself to respond. He felt a slight flush rise to his cheeks at Yeonjun’s careless reassurance, and the way the prince said it, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, made him feel somewhat validated and frustrated all at once.

But before he could speak again, Yeonjun leaned back, changing the subject,

“Anyway, I’m glad we’re here. It’s nice to be away from the palace for a moment.”

Beomgyu nodded, “Hanyang is a beautiful village, I think the people are glad you will be king one day.” He admitted.

Yeonjun went quiet for a moment as he studied Beomgyu, processing his words. “You think so?” he asked.

When Beomgyu had met with the queen a while back, she had told him that Yeonjun is burdened, that his future crown is heavy. He used to wonder if the prince truly cared about the people’s opinion of him or if it was just a duty of his.

He had always seemed so detached, so absorbed in his royal duties. And as much as he wanted to hate the prince, he cannot deny that today, while walking through the village and in the quiet comfort of a tea house, he understood and saw that Yeonjun cared about the people and his future more so than anyone else.

“I do,” He answered truthfully, “There’s a respect that they have for you. I saw it in the way they speak about you, the way they look at you when you walk through the village, Your Majesty.”

The alpha didn’t respond right away, his eyes lost in thought as he toyed with the handle of his teacup. For the first time, the prince seemed somewhat less sure of himself, an uncertainty in his posture.

“You speak as if I’m already king,” Yeonjun chuckled, trying to ease the mood, then he straightened his back,

“But there is still so much that I need to prove, that I need to become.”

He found himself watching the way Yeonjun’s fingers tightened around the porcelain of his cup, his knuckles pale from the grip.

“I think you’ll prove it when the time comes.” he then replied without thinking. 

The prince looked up at him then and there was something raw, almost desperate, that made Beomgyu’s pulse quicken. He wasn’t sure if it was their conversation or the way the prince’s presence seemed to fill the small space between them, but suddenly the air felt thicke.

“Do you really believe so?” Yeonjun asked more earnestly and somewhat amused.

Beomgyu cleared his throat, trying to shake the unease, “Yes,” he said more firmly, “You’re capable of it, your Majesty. I’ve seen it in you.”

For a long moment, Yeonjun didn’t speak. He simply stared at Beomgyu and this time, the omega  found it hard to look away, it was as if his eyes were pulling him in.

“I wonder…” Yeonjun began slowly, “if you truly believe in me, why were you so hesitant to trust me?”

The question struck Beomgyu like a physical blow, leaving him momentarily speechless. His heart skipped and he instinctively looked away toward the teapot in front of them.

“Well, that is because I don’t… I don’t really know you, do I.” he replied, “How do you trust someone who has yet to explain anything? ”

Yeonjun continued to watch him but there was still a steely resolve in the way he held himself.

“I told you, Beomgyu,” he spoke with that same forsaken restraint, “I will explain everything when the time is right.”

The words lingered with the promise of something more. Beomgyu took another sip of the jasmine tea before setting it back down, “And I will wait for it, your Majesty.” 

Yeonjun smiled faintly. “That’s all I ask,” he said softly. And as the tea house continued to hum with the sounds of life, Beomgyu couldn’t shake the feeling that, for better or worse, his world was about to change forever.

The rest of the week unfolded in a similar pattern that was both unfamiliar and strangely compelling.

The cool winds of mid-October swept through the palace grounds, carrying with them the scent of falling leaves and Beomgyu felt as if he moved through each of his days in a haze of conflicting emotions.

Each morning began the same: the pale light of dawn creeping into Yeonjun’s chambers as Beomgyu hesitantly entered, his steps careful, his voice measured. He would assist the prince with his morning routine, sometimes doing his hair, picking his clothes out, making small talk, his hands deft but his mind unsteady.

Yeonjun’s presence seemed to fill every corner of the room and Beomgyu found himself hyper aware of every brush of their hands, every lingering glance.

The prince, for his part, remained an enigma. His tone was always firm but never harsh, his demands reasonable but tinged with a softness Beomgyu had never associated with him before. It was though he was truly trying his best to improve their bond as a servant and as a prince.

And the prince also seemed to take a peculiar interest in his servant’s well-being, and Beomgyu tried to deflect where he could, offering vague responses that he hoped would satisfy the prince without revealing too much.

But Yeonjun was relentless in his quiet persistence. He would catch Beomgyu off guard with his remarks—a comment on his expressions, clothes, or a sharp observation about Beomgyu’s hesitations. And it left Beomgyu feeling exposed.

Yet no matter how much Yeonjun’s actions surprised him, Beomgyu couldn’t fully lower his guard. He carried out his duties, ensuring that the prince’s meals were served on time, his robes arranged, and his plans for the day executed.

But there was a distance he maintained, a barrier he refused to let fall completely.

In the moments between tasks, Beomgyu would find himself grappling with thoughts he couldn’t fully articulate. How could Yeonjun, a man who had once been the source of so much frustration and resentment, now stir something far more complicated within him?

Each passing day seemed to blur the lines between obligation and something else—something he never dared to name in the past and something he will never name now.

He thought, too, of the prince’s promise that one day, he would explain everything. The memory of those words was both a comfort and a torment which left Beomgyu caught in a liminal space between hope and doubt.

But also the thought of being free once Yeonjun is king is also what motivates him, a life unbound to the harsh grounds within the royal palace and the world that surrounds it, he’d endure just about anything to achieve one.

But by the end of the week, Beomgyu was no closer to understanding Yeonjun or himself. But he couldn’t deny the shift that had begun to take place. If they were to continue on this route, the prince would no longer be just a duty to him, he would become something else entirely, something that left Beomgyu restless and uncertain.

And the thought of that terrified him even more.

———

One evening, an invitation arrived unexpectedly.

It was a meticulously folded scroll delivered to Yeonjun’s quarters by one of the royal attendants. Beomgyu, standing silently at his usual post, watched as the prince unfolded the letter with careful precision, his brow furrowing slightly as he scanned its contents.

“The king and queen requested my presence for dinner tomorrow night,” Yeonjun said calmly. He glanced at Beomgyu, “You are to accompany me.”

Beomgyu blinked in surprise, “Me, Your Majesty?” he asked, his tone careful.

“Yes, though I doubt you will be seated at the table.” He added, “But they must want to see you, they haven’t in a while.”

The omega hummed, something warm unfurling within at the thought of seeing Queen Eunyoung. The king, Hyungseok, was also a very kind man to him. He always inadvertently protected him, allowed for him to be raised on these grounds, and also shared a close relationship with his mother. They are two people who he greatly respects and cares for as well, so he felt himself looking forward to it.

Tomorrow came faster than ever, and the sun already began to dip low over the horizon, night falling across the palace grounds as Yeonjun and Beomgyu made their way to the royal dining hall. 

Yeonjun walked slightly ahead in his princely stride and Beomgyu followed closely behind.

This time of the year is beautiful, watching how the colors in the leaves change and smelling the rich scent of chrysanthemums mingled with the air; it was all a reminder of the year’s steady march toward winter. 

Yeonjun wore ceremonial robes of deep navy, their hems embroidered with golden cranes in flight. His dark hair was combed under his top hat. Beomgyu’s simple attire was of a modest jeogori of muted greens and browns.

Looking down, he wished he had invested in some nicer attire than these ones. He has very little money but he bet he could barter for a reasonable price for newer clothes rather than these beat ones.

They arrived at the king and queen's private dining hall, a space less opulent than the grand banquet halls but still elegant.

Painted screens depicting scenes of plum blossoms and birds framed the room, and low lacquered tables bore modest but finely crafted decorations, a porcelain vase with freshly arranged flowers, a brass incense burner releasing thin spirals of sandalwood smoke.

When they reached the private dining chamber, two attendants slid the doors open to reveal the king and queen already seated on silk cushions.

The room was lit by lamps, illuminating the king in his golden robes trimmed with red. His graying hair was neatly tied and his sharp eyes softened when he saw his son. The queen, draped in a gown of jade silk with golden accents, her braided hair decorated with jade pins also smiled warmly as they entered.

"My son, Yeonjun," the king greeted, his deep voice resonating in the intimate space,"Come, sit with us."

The prince bowed deeply, although the man is his father, he is still king and holds utmost respect for him, "Father, Mother, it is an honor."

“Yeonjun-ah,” Queen Eunyoung greeted warmly and gestured for him to sit across from her. Her sharp eyes then flicked to Beomgyu, softening slightly, “And Beomgyu-yah, it has been too long since I last saw you.”

Beomgyu bowed deeply, “The honor is mine.”

He settled himself off to the side, kneeling quietly on a cushion placed deliberately out of direct conversation but close enough to assist should he be required.

The queen’s delicate hands poured tea into the prince’s cup as she spoke,

“I was just telling my husband here how I missed your company, Beomgyu. Oh how strange it feels not seeing you around the chambers! Not saying Minjeong does bad work or anything, it is just that no one replaces your mother or you.”

Beomgyu ignored the way the mention of his mother sent a pang in his heart and instead allowed himself a small smile,

“I am honored to hear that, Your Majesty. Serving you has always been a privilege.”

The queen laughed lightly, her laughter like the tinkling of distant wind chimes, “You were always so polite.”

She turned to Yeonjun, her voice shifting to a teasing lilt, “Perhaps Beomgyu’s manners would rub off on you, my son. The other day, you had the nerve to refuse the tea I brewed for you!”

Yeonjun shook his head, “It was way too bitter, you know I prefer my tea mild over whatever that was.”

“Bitter tea builds character,” King Hyunseok added, earning a glance from Yeonjun and even more laughter from the queen.

As they began eating, the conversation meandered through lighthearted topics. The queen spoke of the palace gardens and how she had personally overseen the planting of chrysanthemums for the season, believing that they bloom even better in the winter.

“They bloom so beautifully this time of year,” she commented “Though I doubt your father even notices.”

The king chuckled, “I have more pressing matters to attend to, Eunyoung, though I will concede the gardens do look lovely under your care.”

Beomgyu always loved to watch the two interact, the most powerful people in all the East and yet somehow they had even a more powerful bond. The epitome of love and what it reaps, love and how beautiful it can be. They are both alphas, both descending from a lineage of elite houses that ruled the land for centuries.

And now they rule their kingdom together while building a family and battling against their enemies, against politics, against adversaries. It is something Beomgyu highly respects them for, adores them for, and sometimes wishes he could one day experience too. Not the power or ruling part, but the part where love can bloom so beautifully that no matter what expectations the cold world gives you, it will always prevail as long as you have that love.

Then the queen turned her attention to Yeonjun, “And you, my son, have your duties kept you so busy that you can’t appreciate the beauty around you?”

“His duties keep him preoccupied,” The king interjected, “As they should. A prince cannot afford distraction.”

Yeonjun did not say anything for a quick moment, as if he was trying to ignore the words of his father. “I’ve been busy as always, Mother,” he admitted finally, turning to his mother, “But I’ll make time to visit the gardens soon.”

King Hyunseok seemed to notice how his son didn’t comment or respond to his words, so he decided to shift the conversation entirely,

"Speaking of duties," he began, his tone more formal now, "Minister Daeho sent a letter this morning. He proposes the mating ceremony to commence in June rather than July."

The words hung in the air like a sudden chill and Beomgyu felt his chest tighten. 

The queen, however, immediately reacted. "June? That’s far too early," she exclaimed, setting down her chopsticks with a delicate clatter. "The preparations will feel rushed, a ceremony of such importance deserves proper time and care. What were his reasons?"

Beomgyu's throat constricted with guilt hearing the king’s words about the mating ceremony. It was a suffocating weight, one he could neither ignore nor shed. The knowledge that the ceremony, this grand, public event meant to bind the crown prince to his destined mate, was only necessary because of him made his throat tighten.

Had it not been for his presence, for what he was, this burden would not rest on their shoulders.

“His reasoning,” the king explained, “is to align with the summer solstice. He believes it is auspicious.”

The queen huffed, clearly unimpressed. “Superstitions. That minister is a joke of a man, truly. Does he think just because he owns trade routes that he can threaten my son-” 

Yeonjun, who had been sitting silently with an unreadable expression, interrupted her, "It is my duty, Mother. If it must be June, then so be it."

Beomgyu felt his hands clenched tightly against his knees. The queen’s frustrated remarks about the timing of the ceremony, the king’s matter-of-fact approval, and Yeonjun who just merely accepted the entire thing—it all blurred into background noise.

All he could focus on was the low ache in his chest and the sharp awareness that he was at the center of something far greater than himself, something that could never be undone.

The king nodded approvingly, pride evident in his expression,

"Well said, my son. That is the mark of a true leader. You know, marriage is not a burden, Yeonjun, but a responsibility. Your mother and I were arranged and yet our union has brought stability and love.”

The queen’s expression softened as she placed a hand lightly over her husband’s,

“That is true,” she agreed, “I should be more optimistic, perhaps this union will bring similar blessings. Whoever you choose to marry, Yeonjun, I’m sure it will be a lovely pairing.”

Her tone grew more animated as she began picturing the occasion, "Just imagine the union! The flowers, the music, the ceremony itself—it will be the grandest event the kingdom has seen in years." She turned suddenly toward Beomgyu,

 "Perhaps your mother will feel well enough to attend. Wouldn’t that be lovely, Beomgyu?"

Beomgyu felt himself stiffen, as if the room felt as though it had been plunged into ice. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. The mention of his mother did nothing but expose his raw, unhealed wounds.

He forced a polite smile, he bowed slightly, "I hope so, Your Majesty."

Yeonjun shifted beside him and for a fleeting moment, Beomgyu felt the prince’s gaze on him. It wasn’t piercing or demanding but soft, inquisitive. Beomgyu didn’t dare look back, afraid of what he might see or what he might reveal.

Then came the queen’s next words, a casual remark that struck with all the force of a thunderclap,

"And speaking of marriage and you, Beomgyu," she said, almost teasingly, "perhaps it’s time you thought of settling down. A good alpha, a proper ceremony. You deserve as much, don’t you think?"

The silence that followed her words were deafening. He noticed the way the king halted his movements, swallowing hard, and Yeonjun freezing along with him. Beomgyu’s breath caught, his hands now clenching so tightly his knuckles turned white.

The implications of her words were a bitter pill, one he could neither swallow nor spit out. It was impossible. The thought of marriage, of settling down with someone, of living a life that mirrored the ideals expected of him—it was a cruel fantasy, one he had no right to entertain.

Still he forced his lips to curve into a faint smile, bowing his head. “That would be an honor, Your Majesty. I too hope for such a day.” 

His voice was calm but inside he felt hollow. Because it was true, he did hope for such a day. A day where he could wed, find someone to love, have a wedding, and be free. But the issue is, even if he was free, his title as a bastard permits him to have a legitimate child and marriage. And for now it is impossible to remove such a title, at least for him it is.

And King Hyunseok, in all his kindness and benevolence, is unable and will never be able to do that for him. He knows Queen Eunyoung meant well, chances are she simply forgot that Beomgyu was a bastard as she holds him in such a high regard that she’s never treated him as once.

From the corner of his eye,though, he caught Yeonjun’s reaction as he processed the words. His hand twitched against the table and his eyes flickered to the queen, then to Beomgyu.

His expression remained neutral, but there was something simmering underneath—discomfort, perhaps or disapproval. Beomgyu couldn’t tell and he didn’t dare look too closely. But his silence spoke volumes.

The queen only smiled, content to herself and continued drinking her tea and then the king cleared his throat, breaking the moment, “Well, then. Let us move on to other matters.” 

Beomgyu exhaled quietly, somewhat relieved for the shift in conversation but unable to shake the lingering discomfort.

And as he glanced at Yeonjun, he couldn’t help but wonder if the prince had felt it too.

———

The walk back to the prince’s chambers was cloaked in silence.

The only sounds were the soft crunch of gravel beneath their feet and the distant hum of crickets. He kept replaying the dinner in his mind and how unsettled it left him, like a dagger twisting in his chest and his feelings raw and exposed.

As they neared the prince’s chambers, Yeonjun’s steps slowed. Beomgyu hurried to close the gap, clasping his hands together as he awaited dismissal, “I suppose I will… take my leave now, Your Majesty,” he said.

But instead of nodding, Yeonjun turned to him with an unreadable expression, “Run a bath for me,” he said simply.

Beomgyu blinked, certain he had misheard, “Pardon, Your Majesty?”

Yeonjun’s lips twitched in amusement, though his tone remained casual, “A bath, Beomgyu. Surely you’ve done that before?”

Beomgyu’s face flushed, heat creeping up his neck, “O-of course,” he stammered, bowing quickly to hide his embarrassment. “I’ll see to it immediately.”

His mind raced as he slid open the door to the adjoining bathhouse.

The space was grand, as befitting a crown prince. Lanterns lit to cast a flickering glow over the polished wooden floors and the marble tub at the center which was large enough to fit several people comfortably. Steam curled gently in the air as he began filling the tub, his hands trembling slightly as he tested the water.

You’re overthinking this, he told himself, though his heart refused to slow. He had ran baths for many before, bathing your superior is a part of your role as a servant. But the thought of doing it for Yeonjun was now nerve wracking.

He had never run a bath for Yeonjun before, and the thought of doing so now felt almost... intimate. His role as a servant had been more defined these past few days, but this was something he did not expect.

As he adjusted the temperature, the door slid open behind him & the scent of cinnamon and cedarwood flooded his nose.

Beomgyu turned sharply, and his breath hitched at the sight of Yeonjun standing there in a silk robe that hung loosely from his frame. His hair was slightly disheveled and the soft fabric caught the light of the lantern, emphasizing the lean lines of his body and exposed chest.

“The bath is ready,” Beomgyu said quickly as he bowed deeply.

He kept his eyes firmly on the floor, unwilling to look up at the alpha. He has never seen a naked male alpha before and is sure that today is not the day he wants to.

Yeonjun stepped forward, his movements unhurried, “Good,” he said, his tone nonchalant as he reached for the tie of his robe, moving as they slid off his shoulders.

And the omega panicke,. “I—I forgot the bath supplies,” he blurted out, his voice too loud in the quiet room.

Without waiting for a response, he darted past Yeonjun and into the storage room, his heart hammering in his chest.

You’re being ridiculous, he scolded himself as he gathered the soaps and oils. Why was he so embarrassed? It was just a bath, nothing more, nothing less. This is his duty, he reminded himself. But still no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the image of Yeonjun standing there, just a thin layer away from naked and yet he was so casual, so unbothered while he felt as though his entire world had been upended.

When he returned, the prince was thankfully already in the tub, the water lapping gently at his shoulders. Beomgyu set the supplies down and hesitated, unsure how to proceed.

“Well?” The alpha prompted, arching an eyebrow.

Beomgyu swallowed hard and knelt beside the tub, carefully dipping a cloth into the water. His hands shook slightly as he reached out, brushing against Yeonjun’s skin for the first time. The contact sent a jolt through him, it felt hot to the touch, even with the cloth serving as a barrier,  and he forced himself to focus, to ignore the way his omega seemed to scream at him to tread carefully.

The room was filled with the kind of tension that made every breath feel heavier. And Beomgyu avoided Yeonjun’s gaze, keeping his eyes trained on the task at hand. 

“I owe you an apology,” THe prince said suddenly, as he looked up towards the omega who rubbed his arms gently.

Beomgyu glanced up, startled, “For what, Your Majesty?”

“For what my mother said at dinner,” He brought up, his expression unusually serious. “About you getting married. She...it was a distasteful thing to say in your presence.”

Beomgyu’s hands hovered for a moment, the cloth dripping water onto the floor as he processed Yeonjun’s words. He’s apologizing for that? The thought was so foreign it took a moment to settle.

His chest tightened as an unexpected warmth blooming there. It was unsettling, almost disorienting each time that the prince was genuinely sympathizing with him, and it felt as though the world had tilted ever so slightly on its axis.

“There’s no need to apologize, Your Majesty,” Beomgyu said softly, he looked down, busying himself with wringing out the cloth as if the action might help ground him, “I’m sure she meant no harm.”

Yeonjun’s jaw tightened, “That doesn’t excuse her ignorance,” his voice tinged with quiet frustration.

For a moment, he wondered if Yeonjun truly meant it or if he was merely saying what he thought an omega like Beomgyu might want to hear, but the sincerity in his expression was undeniable and for the first time since they began this new dynamic, he had no doubts the prince was being genuine.

To diffuse the tension that suddenly coiled between them, Beomgyu offered a faint, teasing smile, “You are one to talk, Your Majesty,” he murmured.

Yeonjun blinked, then let out a low chuckle,“Fair point,” he said with a hint of amusement, “I suppose I have my own ignorance to unlearn.”

The brief moment of levity passed, and the brown haired omega returned his focus to the task at hand, the gentle lap of water against the marble tub filling the silence. But his thoughts were relentless, tugging him in a direction he wasn’t sure he wanted to go.

“Your Majesty,” he began hesitantly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Yeonjun tilted his head, “Yes?”

Beomgyu took a slow breath, forcing himself to meet Yeonjun’s eyes,

“I... I also wanted to apologize. For the mess with the mating ceremony.” His voice wavered slightly, but he pressed on,

“If only I did something, or tried to halt the Minister, perhaps you wouldn’t have been forced to marry so soon.”

Yeonjun’s expression shifted and for a moment, Beomgyu thought he saw something almost gentle flicker across his features.

Then the prince shook his head, the corners of his mouth curving into a faint smile.

“It would have happened regardless,” Yeonjun said simply, “Whether you were involved or not, the outcome would have been the same. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

Beomgyu blinked, his lips parting slightly in surprise. He had expected irritation, maybe even a reprimand for overstepping his bounds as the prince has done before. Instead Yeonjun’s dismissal of the issue was so casual that it left him momentarily speechless.

“But—” He started to protest only for the alpha to interrupt him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Yeonjun said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument,“Truly.”

Beomgyu nodded slowly, though a part of him still felt the weight of responsibility pressing on his chest.

He returned to his task, his movements careful and deliberate.

“Have you ever thought about getting married?” The prince then asked suddenly.

The omega felt his hand falter. If only you knew. He wanted to say, If only you knew how often I think about marriage and love. But he would never dare to admit or tell Yeonjun about his innate desires. They are not close enough, and he fears saying out loud his only dream will only hinder him more. 

Instead he looked up and replied with, “Who hasn’t? Though I imagine you think about it more often, given... everything.”

Yeonjun hummed, “Marriage for royals, though, is different from just regular marriage. It isn’t something you wish for,” he said, “It’s a duty, nothing more.”

“I suppose it is. But the king and queen were right, perhaps you will find…love through this ceremony.” The brown haired omega noted, wringing out the cloth once more.

The prince just laughed at his words though, looking over his shoulder and staring into his eyes, “You are quite naive, aren’t you, Beomgyu?”

Beomgyu felt himself flush red, and shook his head, “Not at all, Your Majesty. What makes you even say that?”

“Please, you couldn’t even stand to see me take my robe off,” The alpha retorted, chuckling to himself, “And yet you bathe me here.” 

The words seemed to spike his heart, Yeonjun not once halting that same, damned intensity in eyes and Beomgyu opened his mouth to respond, but could not as the embarrassment seemed to heat him up fully. 

He forced himself to look away, and the prince just laughed at him once more, “You’re more amusing than I thought, Beomgyu.”

And Beomgyu just swallowed hard, unable to say anything at all. Why was he so affected by his words? Why is his heart beginning to ache in ways unknown? Shaking his head, he continued doing his duty.

Beomgyu carefully poured water over Yeonjun’s shoulder, watching the way it traced the lines of his collarbone and pooled at the base of his throat. The intimacy of the task was suffocating.

Yeonjun had gone quiet, his head tilted to one side as if lost in thought. The lantern light painted his face in soft golds and shadows, making him appear almost otherworldly. Beomgyu dared a glance at him once more as the silence settled in for a while, and he could feel the weight of Yeonjun’s gaze when their eyes met as the prince seemed to already be looking.

“Maybe your mother could come,” He suddenly commented and said, “If she’s well enough.”

And the words broke the steady rhythm of Beomgyu’s movements, his hand tightened around the damp cloth he’d been using. The muscles in his back stiffened, his entire body betrayed the tension that surged through him.

“My mother,” he repeated quietly, his chest constricting as if the very mention of her name was enough to wrap invisible chains around his ribs.

“I—” he hesitated as he scrambled for a response. “It’s not likely,” he finally managed, voice quieter than before, “She hasn’t improved in... five years.”

Yeonjun turned slightly, his eyes searching Beomgyu’s face for a moment, “You always get like this when she’s mentioned.”

Beomgyu gulped and was too stunned to respond. He noticed? The realization left him feeling exposed  as though Yeonjun had peeled back a layer of his past.

“I don’t know what you mean,” He denied it but the slight tremor in his voice betrayed him.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Yeonjun said, his voice much gentler than before as he grabbed the damp cloth out of his hands and set it down on the side, turning his body so he was facing the omega head on,

“But... I’d like to understand. If you’ll let me.”

Beomgyu hesitated as his instincts screaming at him to deflect, to bury the truth where no one could reach it. But something in Yeonjun’s tone, earnest and uncharacteristically tender, made him pause.

The mention of his mother brought a flood of memories, each one sharper and more painful than the last.

He could still see her stern face, lips pressed into a thin line as she loomed over him, “An omega? How could I have birthed such a disappointment?” The words echoed in his mind, slicing through him as cleanly as they had the first time she’d spoken them.

He remembered the way her gaze would harden whenever he entered the room, as though his very presence was an affront to her. She had never raised her hand against him but her words had cut deeper than any physical blow ever could. 

The thought of the countless nights he had spent alone, curled up in the servant quarters, trying to make sense of her disdain, haunted him to this day. He had tried so hard to earn her approval, learning to read and write, perfecting his manners, even excelling in tasks that most omegas weren’t expected to undertake but nothing had ever been enough.

Maybe if I hadn’t been born at all... The thought surfaced unbidden and Beomgyu shook his head as if physically trying to dislodge it. He inhaled deeply, and something in him felt compelled to at least say something.

“My mother and I...” He began as he glanced down at the water, his reflection distorted by the ripples, “We never got along. She... wasn’t the nurturing type.”

The memories surged again and this time he let them. He saw her disapproving glare, felt the ache of longing for a kindness that had never come.

“Maybe if I had been born an alpha,” he said bitterly, his lips curling into a wry smile, “or maybe if I hadn’t been born at all, we would have gotten along better.”

The words were raw and unfiltered, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Beomgyu’s heart pounded in his chest as he risked a glance at Yeonjun, expecting to see pity or disdain.

But instead the prince;s expression was unreadable, his jaw tight and his eyes darker than usual, “Don’t say that,”

The omega was taken aback by the seriousness of his tone, and for a second he was afraid he tainted the memory the prince had of her, quickly he backtracked,

“Don’t get me wrong, Your Majesty. She always cared for you and your family-”

“But never for you?” He interrupted with the words he had been thinking.

Yeonjun’s words sliced through the air like a blade, his tone quiet but pointed. Beomgyu froze, his lips parting in stunned silence. He hadn’t expected the prince to voice a truth so bitter that even thinking about it made his stomach churn.

But he refused to acknowledge it, no, not now, “That doesn’t matter, Your Majesty. She’s always been loyal to your family and that’s what’s important.”

Yeonjun frowned, his brows drawing together as though the answer didn’t sit well with him, “That’s not what I asked.”

Beomgyu was unsure how to respond, and then suddenly Yeonjun just stood up from the bath, the water barely reaching above his hips,

“You don’t have to carry it alone, you know,” his voice almost drowned out by the sound of water, “Whatever it is, you don’t have to.”

And the omega felt his throat close, an ache he could not suppress, but he only bowed his head, a polite but firm dismissal of the offer, “I appreciate your concern, Your Majesty,” he murmured,  “But I am fine.”

Yeonjun sighed heavily, but he did not push it, “If you say so.” His words carried a note of resignation, “You can go ahead to your own chambers, I can finish up here.”

Beomgyu stood up, “Are you sure, Your Majesty? I can go grab a new set of clothes or-”

“No,” He waved the omega off, “It has been a long night, Beomgyu, I am sure you are tired. I will see you tomorrow morning instead.”

He bowed deeply with his body this time, “Goodnight, Your Majesty,” He straightened out, ignoring the way he could physically feel how the prince stared at him as if he searching for something he could not explain, “I will see you tomorrow morning then.”

———

The walk back to his quarters felt longer than usual and Beomgyu replayed the moment over and over.

Once inside, Beomgyu sank onto the edge of his bed, his head falling into his hands. The weight of everything seemed to always press down on him, leaving him breathless.

For years, Beomgyu had learned to survive by burying his feelings, hiding behind duty and decorum. But Yeonjun... Yeonjun had a way of pulling those carefully hidden pieces to the surface, exposing them to the light. It was unsettling, terrifying even.

He knew that there was something dangerous about the connection forming between them, a precarious balance between obligation and something deeper. Beomgyu let out a shaky breat before closing his eyes.

He reminded himself of his place, of the line that could never be crossed.

But as he lay down, staring at the wooden ceiling above, he couldn’t shake the lingering feeling of Yeonjun’s presence, the echo of his voice.

“You don’t have to carry it alone.”

And the words clung to him, refusing to fade even as exhaustion claimed him.