DAUNTLESS

Kim Seungmin, an omega of high society, was in his tenth and ninth year when he first endured the trials of a heat. His mother, distraught, tended to him ceaselessly, and the servants saw to every need, yet he suffered still. When it was over, he bathed, listening half-heartedly as his mother and maid spoke of society’s expectations. He rolled his eyes, knowing one thing with certainty: his future would follow his own rules, and society would bend to him, not the other way about.

Notes:

Was this just an excuse to write poly ot8, a costume drama, and put Seungmin in big fancy dresses?

Yes.

Happy reading!

Chapter Text

Kim Seungmin of the Kim-Suu house is 10 and 9 when he gets his first heat.

He suffers for hours—days— rolling around in his bed, horny and overheated out of his mind. He leaks uncontrollably into his night gowns until the servants come to change him and clean his toys every night.

Seungmin’s sisters carry on in the bliss of their youth, somewhere in the house sleeping or pretending to do so with a flashlight under silk sheets while Seungmin clutches his stomach, waiting on herbal remedies to work and help his pain. In the end, they only do so much, especially when any bouts of peace he gets are overshadowed by the horribly worrisome pineapple scent his mother is filling their home with.

Tis’ nor till day 7 that Seungmin’s cramps lesson, his fever finally breaking during the night and his mother striding in, concern etched into her features as an unfamiliar figure follows behind her.

The stranger, she is a tall woman with caramel skin and curly hair pinned down to her head. She runs a bath for him filled with delightful oils and bubbles, helping Seungmin to realize he is finally once again at peace with his own body.

As the omega sinks into the water, huffing in relief at the perfect temperature cleaning his damp skin and relieving his itchy glands, his mother takes it upon herself to have a servant pull up a chair, sitting next to his paradise with a delicate hand on top of his, which is boneless on the edge of the tub.

“Seungmin, pup. I am so sorry.” She whispers into the soft atmosphere surrounding the three of them. The light from the fireplace and the candles lit in Seungmin’s bedroom draw shadows on both their faces, and Seungmin directs his gaze to her where she sits, smiling softly at him.

“Whatever for?” he muses, much too relaxed to feed into her whining at such a late hour, and after such an exhausting week fighting for his life in the darkness of his bedroom.

“I do not know, to be frank. But, I hate that you had to go through this by yourself.” She elaborates.

Seungmin shrugs, lifting his arm so the pretty, unfamiliar woman can scrub him down with the soft loofa freeing him of his post heat sweat and stench.

“I am sorry anyone has to go through it. I cannot imagine having to experience that every couple of months for the rest of my life.” he sighs, exhausted. His mother laughs softly, shaking her head.

“Yes, it is not ideal, but that is how this is to work. And you will have to deal with it moving forward. You are strong, pup, you can and will win every time a heat attempts at making you lose your mind.”

Suengmin smiles at her at that, but he says nothing. It is clear there is more that she is here for, so he stays silent, waiting.

“That being said…” The woman trails on, and Seungmin does not miss the face the woman washing him makes as his mother hesitates, seemingly looking for the words. He suppresses a laugh at the expression, it is less than appropriate for such a new and delicate situation. Especially in her fresh position as staff Seungmin does not recognize. He likes her, already.

“This,” his mother gestures to the woman with the curly hair, Seungmin smiles softly, nodding at her from his position sunken in the water, she slows in the scrubbing of Seungmin’s soft legs to give a small bow. “–is Angwi. Angwi is to be your bond maid, your escort if you need one, your caretaker in our home. You will no longer need multiple staff members to look after you or accompany you, she is your main source of care.” the woman explains.

“My babysitter.” Seungmin deadpans, interrupting. His mother is silent for a moment, swallowing. Mother Tilly—Seungmin’s omegan mother—is less assertive than his Mother Lidia—the alpha of their household. So it was unwise for the pair to agree that Tilly was to the one to have this conversation. Even so, Seungmin shows no resistance, and does not give the poor woman an easy time.

“No darling, no more of that. You are an adult now, she is here for– eh–” Mother Tilly hesitates, looking over at the other woman for help, while Seungmin stares at her with a bored look of irritation on his face. The other quickly steps in, attempting to save Mother Tilly from herself.

“My name is Angwi, " she introduced, “Na I ain’t no your babysitter, Sirian Seungmin. I’m your companion. As I’m sure you know, every high omega has one until they are married and sometimes even afta’, my big cousin is Mistress Lidia’s. I done already told your mothers that I would not coddle you, and that I would be your safe haven if you need one. I am more than your maid, I am your friend.” she explains, adamant, sure. Again, Seungmin likes her.

“Your accent is so pretty” Seungmin hums, smiling, all too happy to not only be out of heat, but to be chatting with someone who has personal drive, and a mind of their own. “Where are you from? We can get along I’m sure.”

Angwi smiles back, sweet and sincere. They will certainly get comfortable with one another quickly. “New Orleans, but I’ve traveled my whole life. Tonight will be our first night togetha, and I will be more than happy to help you with your introduction into society. I’m gon’ make you as comfortable as possible. And I’m gon’ do all I can to help you to grow.”

Seungmin nods, now that is an introduction. He likes her. “Na, with that out of the way, I’m sure Sillian Tilly has more to say.” Angwi finishes, moving from one leg to the other, working diligently to scrub him clean, enough to rid him of heat residue but not enough to hurt him. Seungmin looks back to his mother, who is smiling pleasantly, if a little unsure. Seungmin does not acknowledge it.“Right, so, love. We have much to discuss.” she begins.

“Like?” the omega muses, plain expression unchanging, Seungmin loves his mother, but she does take much too long to get to the point, it can piss off any averagely patience person.

“You are an adult now. Your first heat has ended. Next is your introduction into society. I will hire a planner for your ball—”
“No– thank you, mother. I will plan my own ball.”
Tilly blinked, speechless. “What? But that would be improper—”

“Mother,” Seungmin interrupted gently, taking her hand in his. “You said I could build my own identity. This ball is the start of that. I want it this way. I am sure Lidia would not mind as long as I let her review the guest list.”

Tilly exhaled, defeated. Still, there is love in her eyes, gentle and earnest.“Seungmin, my dear… how did you become so strong-willed?”

The omega smiles, rubbing her smaller hands in his. “I had two wonderful mothers as examples,” he answered softly, eyes flicking between the two of them. “I will plan the ball with Mother Lidia and Angwi. Perhaps Aunt Raveena will let us host it at the castle?” Tilly nodded, still adjusting to the idea.

“Well, then,” Seungmin said, bouncing in excitement slightly in the water, “we can plan with Aunt Raveena and my cousins. How fun.”
“Now, onto more important matters—” Tilly began.
“Marriage.” He said it like a bitter pill, a curse, rolling his neck as if the word itself were cumbersome.

“Yes — dear — marriage. You are in society starting now, so you must start thinking about who you will spend your future with. Me and Lidia have made a date for you to have a new fitting so we can get your wardrobe replaced, and we have started building you a lovely estate a few miles from here, near the wooded areas and lakes, just like you wanted. But you must marry if you want to inherit it and move on from your house here in the city.”

Seungmin would sink into the water and attempt to end his misery right then if Angwi had not been settled behind him, scrubbing shampoo into his hair and causing Seungmin to suppress a moan from the feeling. It feels all too lovely, and Seungmin almost does not care enough about anything else to acknowledge his mothers continued nagging in the background about how he is expected to act and move forward in future.

What does catch Seungmin’s attention is when Mother Lidia joins them, her sleek, whimsical night gown whisping in with her, hair braided in a manner similar to mama Tilly’s, who continues talking despite melting when her wife places a kiss on her temple. It is a sweet exchange, but not enough to pull Seungmin's attention from the bone melting massage he is receiving.

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✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶⊹︶︶

Chapter 2: Regal

Chapter Text

Seated on a polished settee in the sunlit space, Raveena’s gaze swept over Seungmin with an appraisal that was part amusement, part affection. “And tell me, my dear big sister,” she said, arching a brow, “does he intend to overwhelm the court with charm, or simply leave them dizzy with envy?”

Lidia smirked, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “I leave the overwhelming to him, Raveena. You know he has a way of doing that without even trying.”
Seungmin felt his chest lift with pride. He loved these moments. The ease with which his family could weigh the stakes and tease each other without losing warmth.

Raveena leaned forward, resting a graceful elbow on the arm of her thrown, her sharp eyes twinkling. “I swear, Lidia, one day the court will need smelling salts just to survive his entrances. We must plan carefully: fabrics, colors, manners… And the devilish little remarks—he must know when to let them sting, and when to smile.”

Seungmin tilted his head, trying to hide his grin. The queen’s playful tone, combined with her sharp insight, was almost as dazzling as her presence.

Mama Tilly, ever precise, added with a sly smile, “He has fire enough in him to keep them on their toes, and wisdom to captivate them. Balance, as always, is the secret.”

Raveena laughed softly, her sternness melting into familial warmth. “Balance, yes, but never bland. Seungmin, my dear, the palace halls will be your stage, and you, my little fiery flower, must dance with purpose. Make them remember who you are.”

Seungmin exhaled, shoulders easing. The queen’s attention was exacting, yes, but playful. Protective. Familiar. He could already imagine the swirl of colors, silk, and laughter that hit fitting would bring, knowing that behind him stood not just his mothers, but the queen herself.

The meeting dissolved at last, talk of wax seals and guest lists trailing into the marble halls. His mothers swept ahead, already caught in debate. Seungmin lingered a step behind — and that was all Raveena needed.

“Magical suits and gowns?” she said lightly, one brow lifting. “--- music soft enough to be drowned by chatter? You will not be remembered if you walk in as a dream, Seungmin. Dreams vanish. Velvets. Gold. Something sharp enough to wound the eye.”

His smile was sweet though Seungmin is an omega of much sinister intent.
“Then let them bleed.”

Her laugh was low, rich, carrying no mirth. With a flick of her hand she dismissed her ladies-in-waiting, then caught his chin between gloved fingers as they halted, turning to face each other.

“You look at me with your mother’s stubborn eyes.”
Of course — Queen Raveena cared not for the fact that Seungmin was adopted, never has. She doesn’t hesitate to make comments about how similar Seungmin and his mothers have always been.

“Remember this, nephew: a debut is not a stage for rebellion. It is a stage for survival. If you want them to remember you, make it a memory you can control.”

She let him go, smoothing the collar of his coat in the same motion. “Still,” she murmured softer, almost too soft to hear, “let them whisper. Half of the court lives for the spectacle. The other half lives in fear of becoming such a thing.”

Seungmin bowed, pulse quickened not with fear but something hotter, prouder. He turned, alas, following his mothers.

Behind him, Raveena lingered. An attendant leaned in to ask if she would return to the council chamber. Her smile cut like glass. “The boy has teeth. We shall see, in time, if he learns where to bite.”

On the ride back to the palace — days later, late, due to having to bathe under expectations of the royal family’s very strict clothing maker — Seungmin replayed every word his aunt Raveena had said, her gaze and tone lingering like a challenge he was eager to meet.

“Velvets. Black Gold. Something sharp enough to wound the eye,” he murmured under his breath, exhaling. If the court thought they would quietly admire him, they were sorely mistaken. He would make them see him — and feel him — before the night was over.

The carriage jolted to a stop in the courtyard, and Seungmin felt a familiar prickle of nerves beneath his carefully schooled expression. His debut becomes more realistic when he looks out at the castle, and though the place was half his familial right, today, it did not fail to make him feel as though he were under a magnifying glass.

The staff would look, whisper, judge. They always did. Though the castle is his second home, the larger hallways make more room for lingering talk.

He was in a suit again today, no corset — back open and seams adorned with lace and pearls — but his breathing still escaped him despite his lack of a corset, replaced with anticipation.

A guard stepped forward, too stiff in posture and too bold in tone when he muttered something sharp to Angwi, low enough that the prince might not hear. Seungmin froze mid movement, lips parting, but before he could conjure a retort, Angwi’s voice cut the air cleanly.

“I’ll say what I want in the castle I work in.” he hears the clearly new guard tell the woman. The audacity.

“Not to me, you ain’t,” Angwi corrected without missing a beat. Her tone had the clipped sharpness of steel. “Ion know who you think you are, but I am sure Queen Raveena and Princess Lidia are less than enthusiastic about staff harassin’ Prince Seungmin. You best believe, blood or no blood, he has rights to this palace.”

Seungmin’s eyes bulged, eyebrows shooting up like sparks. The audacity of her words made his chest bloom with glee, his irritation already melting. Inspiring. He knew from the beginning that they would get along like best friends. He almost failed to suppress the grin tugging at his lips when Angwi swung the carriage door open and offered him her hand.

As he stepped down, Seungmin gave the guard a cutting once-over, his expression dripping with judgment. The man, wisely, said nothing—silent as a mouse while the omega strutted past, Angwi following at a measured distance. Once they were inside, she joined him at his side and Seungmin leaned toward her, whispering through his smile, “I knew I liked you.”

They snickered together, their laughter still clinging to them when they entered the drawing room.

There, on the brocade couch, Seungmin spotted Queen Raveena—in her impossibly wide, carriage-sized gown—half sprawled atop his mother Lidia. Lidia’s horrified yelps filled the room as her elder sister planted exaggeratedly loud kisses on her cheeks, arms tangled around her neck like a child’s.

“Get off of me, you trogladite!” Lidia cried, thrashing as Raveena cackled on top of her.

Seungmin only raised an unimpressed brow. Annoying sibling behavior, he thought. Common enough. Anyone who believed royalty was above such things was naive—siblings were siblings, no matter the crown. Manners were simply stitched into their spines for public performance; here, they were free to wrestle like children.

It was chaos enough that no one noticed Seungmin slip onto the chair at the far end of the room, Angwi shadowing him loyally. But then, Estella, the royal seamstress, appeared at the doorway with her tape measure draped across her neck, scanning the room until her eyes found him.

“My dear Prince Seungmin,” she called warmly, beckoning. “We have a great deal to fit, and your sisters are already waiting. Princess Tilly will join us shortly.” And just like that, the laughter and noise of the drawing room faded behind him as he rose to meet her. The fitting began.

The room smelled faintly of burning candles, with sunlight pooling on the polished floors like molten gold. Bolts of silk leaned against the walls, their colors so vivid they almost whispered promises of awe. Seungmin’s fingers brushed a bolt of deep purple as he passed, imagining the swirl of gowns and laughter that would fill the ballroom as he stepped up onto the pedestal. His heart ticked faster—not from fear, but anticipation.

The morning light slanted through the tall windows of the studio chamber, spilling gold across bolts of silk and velvet. Estella’s scissors clicked against the table as she pushed her fiery hair back and gestured for Seungmin to lift his arms.

“Higher,” she ordered, mouth full of pins. “You are stiff as marble. Do you want your clothes to pinch?”

“I would rather you did not stab me,” Seungmin muttered, glancing at his reflection in the tall mirror. The half-finished accessories behind him glittered at the sleeves, pale silver embroidery crawling up mannequins like weeds. “Besides, why do I need so many coats? I am not marrying a closet.”

“You are marrying into society,” Estella shot back, deft fingers tugging the fabric snug around his waist. “And society notices coats and skirts.”

From the divan, Minju and Nari dissolved into giggles, whispering behind their hands.

“He looks like a doll,” Minju sang, draped dramatically across her sister’s lap.

“A very expensive one,” Nari giggled, eyes bright.

“Do you think his suitors will fight to wind him up, or just pull the string in his back?” Minju added.

“Wind him up! Wind him up!” Nari chanted, collapsing into laughter.

Seungmin scowled. “I hope they trip on their own tongues before they reach me.”

“Careful,” the seamstress warned, sliding another pin into place. “The castle whispers have already started about your presentation ball. Everyone is curious what kind of omega you will turn out to be. Gentle and docile unlike your mothers? Or…” She tilted her head, studying him with open amusement. “…something sharper.”

Angwi giggled nearby as Estella measured him with meticulous care, pinning and adjusting every seam as if his life depended on it. One wrong move could earn a sharp scold from the seamstress, she had been trusted by the family for years, and it showed.

“Suengmin, the width of your hips has increased. You have the makings of a mother now.” she comments offhandedly as she is writing down measurements in her journal.

“Child bearing, if you will.” Mama Tilly comments from her spot a few feet behind the pedestal, posture perfect where she sits in a fancy chair she favors during their visits. Seungmin says nothing, not because he did not have a witty response ready at will, but because the thought does not.. Displease him.

To bear children, to raise them up to be respectable people and hold their own. The only negative aspect to all of this is that everyone else is overly anxious for him to make it to such a milestone, despite him having only been out and presented for a few weeks. As if that is all he’s good for. His mothers, his sisters, his friends, all asking when he plans to have children, though he has barely reached his 20th winter.

‘Why must everyone measure me not only in inches of fabric, but in womb and worth?’

Though he does not hate the idea of being a parent, he cannot help but think it’s unnecessary to comment on such defying things so early on.

“One day, Mother. Let us not rush. No need to make haste. Lest I marry incorrectly and my omega refuses to become fertile, simply because I hate looking at them.” he baits boredly, cinnamon giving off hints of bitter annoyment. Angwi laughs quietly when she stands off to the side with Seungmin’s plate of mini cake bribes.

“And remember, dear family, if I do not like what life throws at me I will not hesitate to duck and let it hit another person” he continues, that one gets a laugh from both the Estella and Angwi alike, the two giggling quietly at the combination of Mama Tilly’s exasperated expression.

“Alright then, My Prince.” Estella starts, hands on her hips. “What type of material are we looking to create for your ball?”

Seungmin drops his arms to his side as he chews the inside of his cheek, unsure.

Estella only gives him a moment to think, before her posture slumps in disappointment.

“My Prince, do not tell me you have come all this way without thought about what you are to be wearing at your debut?” She scolds.

“No.” Seungmin admits, playing with his hands, guilty as charged.”I just— I am marinating in my thoughts..” he lies, making an exasperated expression

“Angwi, any ideas?” He turns to her where she is holding the plate, he does not miss how she feeds herself a couple of the cakes from it either. “Ehhh, how about a lovely autumn suit, with a gold butterfly corset? Almost as grand as a ball gown.”

“Autum colors in spring is a definite no, but I think no matter what I wear I want it to have hints of purple.” Seungmin adjusts, helpfully.

“And no yellow!” he adds suddenly. “Honestly, I would rather swoon at a predator.”

Mama Tilly arched a brow and shook her head. “You are being dramatic,” she scolded.
“Tis’ my entire charm,” Seungmin countered, earning a chorus of snickers from his sisters.

Estella clicked her tongue, pulling their attention back to the task at hand.

“Alright then, progress.” She starts, walking through the space and plucking a journal from off of a bookshelf to the omegas far left, opening it and scribbling onto the paper.

“Are we thinking about suits? Ball gowns? A combination?” she hums, looking around to the other 3 occupying the space. At his side, Angwi fed him tiny cakes from a tray, as though bribing him to behave. Estella circled him with her measuring tape and sketch book like a hawk, and Seungmin endured it all with practiced detachment.

“How about since Seungmin is feeling seasonal, we go for something of the sort. Purple and green?” Mama Tilly inputs, watching for Seungmin’s reaction. Seungmin hums, rocking side to side as he considers. “It doesn’t sound bad, I like spring. But would the green be too.. Planty? Not elegant enough for a ball?”

“We can balance it out with white, if that is the case. Maybe the gown's train is white and the corset has green and purple flowers?”

“Too simple. We have to put some thought into this. It is his debut.” Estella objects, shaking her head and tapping her finger on her chin.

Seungmin looks to his left, noticing the way Angwi shifts nearby like something is plaguing her mind. He gives it a moment, waiting to see if she speaks. When she does not, he leans over, tugging at the tail on her dress to tease, getting her attention.

“What are you thinking about?” he pries.

Angwi smiles, a sort of confidence in it. Even so, she fiddles with the band on her finger like she has got nerves. “I think something I was working on today kind of fits a spring, royal theme.”

Seungmin gives her a sweet, genuine smile that is lovely and silly all at once, tilting his head in a manner resembling a curious puppy. “Well, let us see it then?”

Angwi gives Seungmin a look of surprise, blinking owlishly at the request.

“Oh please, a maid designin’ ball gowns for the prince? That’s absurd.”

Seungmin shrugs, not the slightest bit deterred by her words. “There is not a single rule written anywhere that says it cannot be so, even then, we certainly should not care. Have some faith in yourself, Angwi.”

The woman makes a contemplating expression, looking to both Mama Tilly and Estella questioningly. They make encouraging gestures, nodding.

With that, Angwi wastes no time turning on her toes, doing an adorable miniature run to where she had been sitting, drawing silently the first 20 minutes of their arrival. Seungmin steps down, his mother and Estella crowding around the pad of paper to get a glimpse of what it holds.

What's on the page is not but a simple sketch, despite this, even the design and detail in the outline is impressive. It only further presses the trio when Angwi begins elaborating on the each trait the dress has. The omegas eyes widen, his cinnamon scent spiking with excitement, as does his mothers pineapple and Estella’s green grapes.

“If we color it right I think we could really have the people gaping during your ball. Here, the sleeves fall just off the shoulda, to flatter your broad shoulders and slim arms. The corset buttons close to show off the natural—” she giggles, “—nonexistence of your waist.”

A delicate hand brushes against Seungmin’s as she guides his gaze, and he nods along, mouth parted in silent astonishment as she talks, pointing to the shaded embroidery sketched across the bodice.

“I was thinkin’ this trim could be gold, like you’d mentioned. And the flowers and vine-like detailing here—green and purple, just as you all were discussing. The base fabric could be blue. With the right shades and touches, I truly believe your gown—or whatever you decide to call it—will be more captivating than a honey jewel.”

Her enthusiasm bubbles over as she flips the page. “And see hea, The design includes a matching pair of trousas, as well as a detachable train. So you won’t have to stay in the skirt the entire evening, if you’d see it fit.”

Her eyes sparkle as she explains, and Seungmin finds himself nearly as ecstatic as she is, delight tugging at the corners of his lips, his heart already racing at the thought of it. For a brief moment, the promise of silk and shimmer felt like a shield — something dazzling enough to outshine every whisper, every stare that would follow him into society.

When the fitting is done, the family makes their way towards where Queen Raveena waits for them in a further area of the castle, the halls rang with his sisters’ laughter as they skipped ahead, tugging at one another’s hands, jewels and ribbons bouncing like banners. Behind them, Mother Lidia and Mama Tilly walked with their usual grace, heads high despite the weight of eyes that always seemed to follow them.

The staff they passed smiled warmly, bowing or murmuring greetings—familiar voices, familiar faces who had long since chosen affection over gossip. Though the castle brimmed with whispering courtiers and long shadows of scandal, the staff themselves were another matter.

Seungmin had grown up with them—kitchen maids who smuggled him sweet rolls when he was small, the stable boy who once let him ride bareback down the lanes, footmen who knew the exact curve of his laugh. Their loyalty was quieter than banners and crowns, but far steadier.

They bowed with warmth and respect, not obligation, greeting his mothers with softened smiles that spoke of respect rather than duty. Within these walls, affection had taken root in place of gossip, and it mattered more to Seungmin than he would ever admit. But not everyone in the castle was as kind.

A courtier paused to glance at them, his sneer so slight it might have been missed, save for the way Seungmin’s jaw tensed.

A murmur fluttered behind their backs — something clipped, something about “crowns abandoned.” Seungmin did not catch every word, but he caught enough. His jaw ached from the force of keeping it set.
Let them whisper. Let them sneer. His family had given up crowns, yes, but never dignity. Never love.

When Seungmin was younger, his mother sat him down, explaining the reason for dirty looks from the old and young alike on walks and outings. Tilly had narrowed her eyes, telling him something he was never to forget.

“Seungmin, for centuries it has not been a choice to have or not to have a crown. Your Mother Lidia, she chose to hand that honor — and burden alike — to someone who would love and respect it. A crown deserves to be on the head of someone whose skull can bear the weight, one that wants to. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, darling. So wise the mind it surrounds should be. If you put two people in rags, one a commoner and one a royal, you would not be able to tell which is of royal status. The blood does not matter. You — my lovely little fury flower — have dragon fire in your soul, and gold in your heart. You are what is protected and what does the protecting all in one. You were chosen to be a force in a line of royalty. Others were lucky, simply born into it. So tell mommy, does it mean more to be mindlessly handed something great, or to be chosen for something wonderful?”

It plays in Seungmin’s head when someone tries to deny him as royalty, even if they are right and the throne is not his birthright, and he does not belong to nobility by blood, his head was hand picked to have a crown placed upon it, and that means he belongs in the palace as much as anyone else, if not more.

Somewhere above, the bells tolled the hour. The sound rippled through the stone, a reminder of how soon the season would begin. Invitations were already being whispered over ink and wax; the ballroom was being swept and polished until it gleamed. Soon, society’s doors would open to him at last. And with it would come the suitors, the stares, the endless judgment.

His pulse quickened — not with dread, but something closer to thrill.

In a few weeks time, he would not walk into the ballroom as an apology, nor as a mistake. He would walk as himself. And anyone bold enough to stand before him would have to prove they deserved him.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶⊹︶︶

Chapter 3: The Giver

Notes:

If you're unfamiliar with the rules of like old society costume dramas, woman or in this universe omegas are not to even be alone or rumored to be alone with any men when they aren't officially out in society or unmarried. Teehee. Just keep that in mind.

Chapter Text

‘Tis a peaceful day of home dwindling when Seungmin is teaching his sister piano, not long after his vocal lessons have concluded. He presses a melody into the keys, Minju repeating it in opposite note on the other end of the instrument. He repeats it, she follows, and before Seungmin can correct her posture Minju takes off on the keys like a spooked horse, notes ringing through the space whilst she goes completely off book.

The music she plays is beautiful, and naturally, Seungmin does not mind her rebellion, he is not an omega for being tamed, but the error at which she misses the right keys every so often and hunches over the keys is less than proper, so he hesitates not in stepping on her foot below the table. Minju yowls, growling horribly loud at her brother, though he ignores it in place of chewing her out instead.

“How many times have I told you to focus on the keys and sit up straight, I do not know how you expect to become better than mother if you do not know how to listen, Juni. Focus.” he scolds, holding back a smile at the way she growls under her breath. “Talented alpha approaching her rut seasons who cannot even sit up straight at the piano, absurd.” he teases, bumping her shoulder with his own so she nearly falls from the bench they are sharing.

“Be liberal, now, you two.” Mother Tilly scolds from across the room, peeking over the book she is reading. Minju huffs, blowing a bang from her face in a bratty exhale. “You are not to be scolding me about my rut when you have only just had your heat. How incorrect.”
“Well then, little shit, it is common for omegas to have heats later than alphas have ruts, smart one. Since you know your anatomy so well, I am sure you know that 16 is the most common age for female alphas to present outwardly, so enjoy your youth and freedom while you have them, ruffian.”

“The only ruffian here is you, with your incorrect, too-close eyeballs! You’re one to talk, hiding behind lace sleeves and fans.”

“Easy, pups! What have I just said?” Mother Tilly cuts in again, never one for quarreling, though her wife very nearly eggs such behaviour on, a playful smile tugging at her lips where she lays on the sofa across from him. The two look back to the woman, who is giving them a warning filled raise of her eyebrows. Nari giggles behind her romance novel where she sits in the chair next to the women.

“On with your lessons.” she bids. Seungmin and Minju give each other looks of disdain as they turn back to the piano, not without shoving their shoulders into one another a couple of times, laughing quietly as to not be reprimanded again.

The parlor smelled faintly of polish and fresh bread from the kitchens, the twins’ laughter ringing alongside Seungmin’s practiced melody. It is no more than 5 minutes later when one of the household butlers slid the door open just enough to slip through, his composure tight enough to make everyone uncomfortable before he had even spoken, bowing stiffly in greeting before stating his business. “Your Highness, my Lady… the heir of His Grace, the Duke Heir, has arrived at the manor and requests an audience.”

The room is silent for a moment, everyone's attention on the butler where he stands stiff in the doorway. “Eh— whatever for?” Mother Lidia finally says, her and her family looking around at each other, no one having much of a clue as to the context of this visit.

“He says that he is here to.. eh.. pose courting.. and acquaint Sirian Seungmin, ma’am.”

Silence once again. No one says anything for another few seconds, Minju turns to Seungmin, then to their mothers, eyebrows pinched.

“Mama, mother.. brother’s ball is not for another few weeks, correct? I thought it was inappropriate to present oneself before the ball arrives and an omega is officially in society?-”

“It is, love.” Mother Tilly set her book down with exaggerated care, as though putting a leash on her temper, while Lidia all but snapped her journal in half. “No one should be showing up until next week, this is horribly tactless. You said it was– who? A duke heir?” Lidia turns her attention back to the butler, as does the rest of her family.

“Yes princess, the duke of house Collins, his Grace Clairo Collins. He… entered with such confidence that the footmen hardly dared slow him, madam. He waits in the receiving hall.”

Seungmin is irritated much too soon for it to be so early in the day, the lose lace sleeves of his suit follow swiftly as he reaches to top of the piano, snatching his fan down and opening it with a crack sharp as a whip, the kind of sound that promised someone was about to be dismissed.

He airs himself as he tries to cool his constantly heating face; the audacity of someone to show up so early and out of the blue demanding an audience. It is horribly graceless. Seungmin has to see this man for himself. Minju, under her breath comments next to him, “Bet he thinks you will fall into his arms on sight.” Seungmin, not missing a beat, “I would sooner fall into the gutter..” he grits. “Well..let us greet him.. before his ego eats the draperies.”

The receiving hall smelled faintly of lavender wax and the gleam of polished marble. High arched windows let in light that dappled over the carved columns and gilded portraits, the sort of room meant to remind a guest of precisely whose presence they stood in. The family entered in measured grace: Mother Lidia with her chin high, Mother Tilly disturbed at her side, and Seungmin just behind them, fan resting delicately against his shoulder as though he were already bored of the affair. Minju lingered nearby, her expression too openly curious.

Clairo Collins stood waiting at the base of the grand stair, posture the picture of confidence. His bow was deep, precise, but not humble—every movement screamed of a man who knew the worth of his bloodline. He rose smoothly, eyes catching on Seungmin with a flicker of appraisal that bordered on claim.

“Your Highness. Your Grace,” he said, voice rich with the kind of charm practiced in drawing rooms rather than born of sincerity. “It is the greatest honor to be received within your halls. I must beg pardon for my enthusiasm, arriving ahead of the coming ball, but my eagerness could not be tempered another day.”

Mother Lidia’s smile was sharp enough to cut glass. “Enthusiasm, is it? How novel.”

Tilly’s reply was warmer but laced with steel. “You do understand, my lord, that custom dictates one waits until an omega is presented to society before—”

“Of course, my Lady,” Clairo interrupted smoothly, inclining his head. “But I confess custom pales when weighed against destiny.” His gaze slid to Seungmin, daring, confident. “I could not bear to let opportunity be delayed.”

Seungmin arched a brow above his fan, hiding his smirk behind the flick of painted silk. Destiny, was it? He had heard better poetry from a lustful stable hand.

Seungmin snapped his fan open with a delicate thwip, the feathers catching the light as though they were pleased to be part of the performance. He tilted his head, considering Clairo with the languid curiosity of someone surveying a painting they were unsure belonged on the wall.

“Destiny?” His voice was soft, honeyed, but the corners of his mouth curved wickedly. “My Lord Clairo, I had no idea it wore such a presumptuous face. You speak as though you have already signed your name in my dance card, and yet—” he fluttered the fan before his lips, eyes glinting like polished steel, “—I seem to recall leaving it scandalously blank.”

Minju snorted nearby before hastily disguising it with a cough. Tilly’s lips twitched, fighting a smile, while Lidia leaned back with that feline composure that suggested she was thoroughly entertained. Clairo, to his credit, only straightened, the smile tightening at the edges. “Confidence is a virtue, is it not?”

“Mm,” Seungmin drawled, feigning thought. “I always thought confidence wore the scent of roses. You, my lord, smell rather more like entitlement. A far less flattering perfumes. Speaking of which, I am not fond of citrus, you are making me sick.”

Clairo’s smile is forced, his eye twitching even as he bowed again, with the stiffness of a man who thought himself elegant. “Your family is most gracious to receive me without notice.”

Seungmin gave him a swift up and down, the sound of his fan fluttering cutting through the air like a whip. “Oh, I assure you, my lord, it was not grace. It was curiosity. You arrived like an untrained dog at supper—loud, unexpected, and with dirt on your paws. One must see such a spectacle for oneself.”

Mama Tilly coughed into her hand. Minju bit her gloved knuckles to keep from laughing. Clairo’s jaw flexed, but he pressed on. “I only wished to make my intentions clear, Seungmin. I am not one to hide behind couriers or formalities.”

“Not one for manners either, it seems,” Seungmin shot back, leaning forward as his lashes lowering in mock sweetness. “Tell me, do you burst into every household with your tail wagging? Or am I simply special?” Clairo drew a slow breath, his composure fraying. “I would not call it bursting, dear prince. I would call it… destiny.”

Seungmin’s laugh was sharp and bright, condescending, like crystal shattering. “Destiny?” He flicked his fan open again, covering his smile as his eyes glittered. “I think destiny has better taste than to drape itself in your wrinkled coat and swollen ego. If this is fate’s doing, then she must be terribly bored.”

The heir’s face flushed scarlet, his lips parting as if to retort—but Seungmin only tilted his head, batting his lashes, the very picture of mocking innocence.

“Careful, my lord,” he purred, voice soft as silk but sharp as a blade. “If you glare at me like that, I might mistake you for a common brute. And what would your duke-father say then? That his son tried to court an omega by growling at him like a kennel pup?”

Clairo’s fists clenched at his sides. “You mock me, Seungmin, but I assure you—”

Seungmin cut him off with a wave of his fan, lazy as a cat. “Oh, do not assure me. You have done nothing but assure me since stepping foot in this house. Assure me of your boldness, assure me of your arrogance, assure me of your inability to dress yourself properly. Truly, it is exhausting. One more assurance and I will have to lie down for a nap.”

The room stifled laughter—his mothers traded a look, the twins nearly choking with glee, Mama Tilly pinching her gown to keep from gasping aloud.Clairo’s voice sharpened. “Do you think this amusing? That I lower myself to pursue you before your debut and you—”

“Lower yourself?” Seungmin snapped his fan shut again, his eyes glittering dangerously. “I see you have finally chosen to show your true colors. My lord, if this is you lowered, I tremble to imagine you standing tall. Do you mean to say my hand is some act of charity for you? A favor for a pitiful little omega who could not possibly do better?”

Clairo flushed, caught between pride and fury. “I only meant—”

“You meant,” Seungmin said sweetly, rising to his feet in one fluid motion, “that you think me desperate enough to smile and curtsey when you came swaggering into my home uninvited. That I, a prince, would be flattered.” He leaned close enough that Clairo could feel the fan brush his sleeve. “But I would rather marry my chamber pot than a man who cannot even hold his temper at tea.”

That broke the room. The twins burst into open laughter, Minju actually hiding her face against her sister’s shoulder, and even Lidia could not disguise her smirk.

Seungmin gave Clairo one last devastating smile. “Thank you for your visit, my lord. Next time, do bring flowers. They will give me something to throw in the fireplace when I get bored.”

Clairo’s voice cracked with anger. “You dare—”

Seungmin snapped his fan closed with a sharp click, loud as a slap before pointing it at the other man, promptly shutting him up. “Dare? My lord, I excel at daring. Daring to breathe too loudly, daring to laugh when I should not, daring to live in a way that upsets men who think themselves kings.” His lashes lowered, gaze cutting. “So yes, I dare. And today, I dare find you revolting.”

The silence rang. Even the fire in the grate seemed to shrink.

Then Seungmin stood, smoothing his coat as if dismissing the conversation like a dull page in a book. “Mama, Mother, I believe Angwi wanted me to review fabrics this afternoon. Come along, twins—we have wasted enough daylight on… entertainment.” His eyes flicked to Clairo, soft with venom. “Good day, my lord. Do mind the door does not strike you too hard when it closes behind you, I do so adore the paint on it.”

And with that, he swept out, the train on his suit brushing the duke’s heir like a deliberate insult, leaving Clairo red-faced and utterly defeated in front of the whole family. Clairo watches the smooth back beneath the heart shaped opening in Seungmin’s top retreating, wordless for a few petrifying moments.

Clairo stood frozen, color mottling his face, fists trembling at his sides. “This—this is outrageous! To be treated so—”

“Outrageous?” Mama Lidia had paused in the doorway, gown twisted in her hands, eyes sharp. “Outrageous would be letting you prattle another word at this house. Outrageous would be not seeing you to the door immediately.” She gestured curtly, and two footmen stepped forward, posture firm but respectful.

“My lord,” one said evenly, “the family is engaged. This way, if you please.”
“I will not be escorted out of this house like some—” Clairo sputtered.

“You will,” the other servant interrupted, voice flat. The three of their attention is caught by Angwi turning the corner, joining them where the duke heir is standing.

“Indeed, duke doofis. Because you have worn out your welcome. If you refuse to leave, you’d be posing a threat to our dear prince, and ain’t gone tolerate it, so I will be using force. I’d so hate to ruin your tacky yet expensively tailored bridges. We can end this quietly, suh.”

Gasps of muffled laughter drifted down the hall where the twins were surely eavesdropping, and Clairo, red-faced and spluttering, could do nothing but storm toward the entry under the watchful eyes of servants who no longer bent in deference.

“Is that a threat? You — insolent servant — would not dare lay a hand on a duke's heir, my father would—”

Clairo does not get to finish his sentence, not when Angwi struts up to him boredly, knocking the heir in the side of the neck with one clean, hard chop. He drops in a manner that is fly-like, not unconscious, just disoriented.

The tall woman bends down, grabbing the man by the back of the coat and dragging him through the grand home, the servants happily open every door leading up to the final one in the front of the house, peeking around the threshold to watch as the woman throws the man down the steps. That certainly wakes him up, he yelps ungracefully as he flies through the air dramatically, hitting the ground with a thud.

The women, men and children on the street stop and stare from beneath their parasols and hats at the spectacle, some laugh and others gawk, taken entirely by surprise at drama happening on what is no doubt the largest house on the block.

“And I suggest you don’t take an attempt at courting anybody until you learn how to treat anotha person, let alone an omega you want to marry!”
With that, Angwi dusts off her hands, and it ends there.

By the time the front doors closed with a definitive thud, the Kim-Suu family was already elsewhere in the house, Seungmin dabbling on the piano as if the encounter had never happened at all.

Angwi struts into the room, returning to Seungmin’s side with a fresh plate of lemon cookies for him and his family. “Frankly, ma prince, the chamber pot woulda been less trouble.”

Seungmin and his family do not suppress laughter as they take down the cookies like a pack of giggle-ridden hyenas. Their calm quality time does notlast for long, not when—naturally—Seungmin craves excitement.
“I think I will step out soon. I have some place I want to visit before the sun sets.” He announces, no longer content with the piano before him.

“My word, Seungmin. We have already made enough drama today, must you venture out and splash the mud?” Mother Tilly sighs, exaggerated, her book she is attempting to settle into again dropping into her lap.

“Mother, if I do not splash what good is getting in the mud in the first place?”
Tilly shakes her head, sighing, Seungmin only smiles a bit when Lidia laughs from where she’s tucked herself in the corner with the twins, trying to help them figure out a puzzle they’d pulled out of the nook.

“Alright then family, I am terribly bored and could use some appetizers before dinner, I have decided. I am going into town to the bakery. Felix makes pastries that could heal a broken heart, and mine has just been unkindly assaulted.” Tilly looks up from her book again, aghast. “Minnie, we are only a few hours before supper–”
“Take Angwi with you.” Lidia cuts in, not looking up from where she is pushing puzzle pieces together.

“Would not dream of leaving her, mother.” is all Seungmin says when he places a kiss on Tilly’s head, who is defeated mid objection.
“I will be back in time for our last meal.”

Seungmin makes his way upstairs, he allows Angwi to change him into something a little less flashy and more flowing, Felix liked it when his clothes were loose.
Shortly after, their climbing into a carriage, the distance between the Kim-Suu household and Sunshine Sweets far too great a walk for them to make it there and back before supper is served.

It is a smooth ride out of the elegant and crowded area of Seungmin’s familiar streets into the less graceful villages. These areas are rougher, not nearly the same amount of fancy dresses and embroidered parasols on the sidewalks. But to Seungmin, they are just as beautiful.

He greets sellers and locals on his way deeper into the constantly growing city, more than happy to be in an area that is filled to the brim with hardworking, happy people. There are no poor neighborhoods in the Kim Kingdom, thanks to the constant and restless efforts of Queen Raveena and her entire family.

Seungmin was never one to ignore those in need, nor was Felix. Seungmin was not good with physical labor, but he could report to his aunt what parts of the kingdom needed aid the most. When Seungmin and Felix met, he had been selling pastries out of his tiny home he shared with a friend. Now, with the help of their Seungmin, he and many other business owners have been afforded the resources to move up and do more for themselves and the villages they reside in. And as a result, the kingdom as a whole.

They arrive at the bakery in just a few minutes, Angwi hopping out of the carriage and helping Seungmin down in tandem. The bell overhead rings when they step in, the warm spaces aroma of baked goods and ingredients hitting the pair like a tidal wave. It is all consuming, and an arrival at such a filled out space of hard work and love never gets old.

The front of the shop is already bustling — mothers balancing baskets, children tugging at skirts for sugar-dusted buns, a pair of old men in the corner muttering with cups of steaming tea at rickety tables. The glass cases gleam with fruit tarts and golden loaves, and the warmth of the ovens makes the air heady and sweet.

Angwi lingers near the counter, immediately batting her lashes at the young boy running orders, who nearly trips over his own shoes at her grin. “You wouldn’t happen to be handin’ out samples for pretty visitors, wouldya?”

The poor boy melts. With her charm — all curly hair and caramel skin— she secures a plate of cream-filled rolls, happily nibbles smugly while Seungmin barely spares them a glance, lips twitching, before his attention slides toward the half-swinging door at the far end of the shop.

He does not need to ask permission. The workers know him by now, on top of that, illegitimate or not, the prince has never once enjoyed lingering in line like a common customer. He slips past with the grace of habit, pushing open the door into the bakery’s heart.

Felix does not notice him at first. He is at the center of the space, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, forearms dusted in flour, kneading a stubborn lump of dough with a steady rhythm. His build is all lean power — the kind of strength that does not boast but proves itself in every flex and press. Muscles shift under tan skin as his arms work, freckled and kissed golden by the sunlight streaming through the window.

Seungmin stops just inside the door, suddenly too aware of his own chest rising and falling, of how sharply his pulse quickens. His cinnamon spikes before he can stop it, a burst of sweet-sharp omega that coils into the warm air.

Then Felix turns.

His bright hair is half-tamed under a kerchief, but a few strands fall loose over his brow. He is ethereal— in that androgynous, untouchable way that makes Seungmin’s throat dry. His freckles scatter like starlight across his nose and cheeks, and his mouth quirks the second his eyes land on Seungmin.

“Pretty prince,” Felix says, deep voice lilting and teasing all at once, “come to tempt me off my work again?”

Seungmin nearly scoffs, but the sound catches too heavy on his tongue. The problem with Felix, with his soft drawl, with his golden lashes and flour-dusted apron — is that he always smelled so unmistakably omega. Warm, raw honey, sharp enough to spark want in Seungmin’s gut.

Felix wipes his hands down the front of his apron and leans an elbow on the counter, tilting his head. “Or is it my pastries you are after?” His grin makes it clear he already knows the answer.

Seungmin takes a slow step closer, unable to drag his eyes from the flex of Felix’s slender arms, the way muscle appears from nowhere when he flex’s them, from the faint sheen of sweat where his collar gapes and his adams apple bobs. His crochet projects, his quarrels, his music — none of it felt quite as dangerous, quite as consuming, as standing in this bakery watching Felix breathe.

Seungmin scoffs, though his voice betrays him with its slight hitch. “And what a tragic thing, if I said the latter.”

Felix’s grin flashes wider, wicked. He wipes flour onto his apron, stepping closer — too close, close enough that Seungmin can feel the heat rising off him, the way their scents curl and tangle in the air.

“You wound me. I thought it was my charm.” He leans just enough to show the hollow of his collar, the faint sheen at his throat.

Seungmin should roll his eyes, should bite back with something clever, but the words lodge. His gaze drifts, against his better judgment, to the twitch of muscle in Felix’s arm where it braces the counter, to the freckles dusted at his collarbone, to the way his lips tilt as if he already knows.

Felix hums, almost idly, though his lashes flicker up with sharp attention.

“Dear prince, you are the talk of the ton. Everyone is buzzing about how the gorgeous illegitimate royal is to be out by the end of the month, and whom it is that is going to lock him down.” Felix’s eyes drift up and down Seungmin’s figure as he talks, wiping flour and residue from his hands while he is leaning against the counter he had just been working on. His flirtatious, confident movements and roaming eyes make the omega hot, like he is one of Felix’s breads being set into the oven.

Even so, Seungmin is good at nothing if not matching and trumping attitude. It is why they get along so well, 2 omegas who are anything but docile and average. They break rules together, they take chances and they care not for the bounds and whispers of the streets they walk on. The best part? None of it matters to them, especially when they are together.

“Lock me down?” Seungmin muses, suppressing a smile and controlling the consistently growing flame in his stomach. “No one will be putting me behind bars as long as I have my consciousness and my dignity. But you know that, don’t you? Lix?” Seungmin tilts his head at the last part, smiling small and innocently. Felix adores him and he knows it, that being said, he is also aware Felix knows there is not a single kindle of innocence in that smile.

The freckled man chuckles, short and quiet, tossing the rag onto the counter top. It lingers in the air, warm and unhurried, but Seungmin feels his chest tighten all the same. Because Felix has to be well aware that standing here, now, feels different than it ever had before.

Technically, Seungmin is out. Society might not have paraded him through their gilded halls yet, or filled up his dance card, but his first heat had come and gone, leaving him changed in ways no careful etiquette lesson could touch. His scent had deepened, sharpened; his body carried itself differently, as though even his bones remembered what it was to burn.

And Felix noticed. Of course he had. The freckled omega was too aware, too attuned with Seungmin to miss the way Seungmin’s cinnamon spiked higher, sweeter, richer than it ever had before. Too aware not to catch the sharpened edges of attraction cutting into the air between them.

Seungmin catches him staring — not at his face, not exactly, but somewhere lower, tracing the line of his shoulders, his chest, as though remembering. And Seungmin does, too. Felix’s mouth hot on his skin, his legs thrown over freckled shoulders, rushing headlong and unrepentant even before the excuse of maturity had been on their side.

The memory lands heavy, heat curling in Seungmin’s gut, and Felix swallows, adams apple bobbing as if he feels it too. It is near impossible for Seungmin to scrape his eyes away from the hard, freckled chest peeking from beneath his apron. The playful bravado slips just slightly, something real and hungry peeking out beneath the smirk.

“Strange,” Felix murmurs, tilting his head like he is musing to himself. “It feels like yesterday you were sneaking into my place just to avoid your escorts. And now—” his eyes glitter, a pointed sweep of lashes, “now the ton is waiting with baited breath to see whose mark you will wear.”
Seungmin huffs, half a laugh, half an effort to keep his lungs working. “And you, what? Expect me to beg for your pastries instead?”

Felix’s mouth curves, sharp as ever. But his fingers flex on the counter, betraying the tension, the effort to stay languid when his scent betrays him — honey, raw and heady, swelling under the cinnamon until Seungmin’s pulse thrums with it.

“That depends,” Felix says lightly, though his voice dips lower than it should. “What are you really here for, love?” Felix speaks it not in their language, but in his mother tongue. He is a foreigner, born in a land miles from their lovely growing society. Over the months, he has taught Seungmin some of the basics, but understanding him is less than relevant when Felix makes every language earthquaking with the sound of his voice. Still, he clenched around nothing as slick pools from his hole beneath his gown, something that had not happened before his first heat had humbled him some time ago.

‘Oh? That’s new.’

Seungmin’s hand tightens at his side. He could lie. He could shrug and make it harder. But his heat had carved out the truth of him, stripped him raw, and he cannot find it in himself to pretend anymore. Slowly, deliberately, he slips the folded parchment from his sleeve. The edges crinkle faintly as he holds it out.

Felix’s brows lift, surprise cutting clean through the playfulness. He does not reach for it right away — just stares at the paper, then at Seungmin, as though weighing the space between them, the years of secrets, the reckless nights, the fact that this is not just flirting anymore.

Seungmin swallows. His voice — when it comes — is low, steady despite the way his pulse trips. “For you,” he says. “Because if I must be paraded, Lix… I would rather you be there to see it. Maybe, if you so choose, be a part of the celebrations.”

Felix’s scent shifts so suddenly it nearly takes Seungmin off guard — honey spilling thick and wild into the air, a storm of contradictions. Shock and fear are there, yes, but tangled with something stronger: a giddy spark of excitement, the glow of admiration, a mischief that curls through the air like smoke.

His fingers tighten around the parchment as though it might burn through him. “Seungmin,” he breathes, almost a laugh, almost a curse. “Do you know what you are asking–”
“Offering.” Seungmin quickly corrects, “Proposing, if you will.” he jokes as if it is so easy.
“This is not—” Felix continues, “this is not hushed affection in a village kitchen.” His voice lowers at the last part, deliberate, careful. Seungmin’s small smile does not break.

“This is dukes, titled men with fortunes and reputations built for getting what they want. And you– you are handing me this like it is—” He falters, staring, the honey in his scent spiking high and golden. “Like it is so simple.”

Seungmin only tilts his chin, daring and devastating. “Because it will be, if you want me badly enough.You are formidable, strong.” The look of surprise on the other omegas' face only makes Seungmin giggle, so he continues— elaborating, grounding.
“You have had your leg up in the fight, now tis’ time for the battle. Or—war, is more like it.”

Felix huffs a stunned laugh, but his gaze does not waver. He recognizes the mischievous, bratty glint in the other omega's eyes almost immediately; a challenge. The weight of what Seungmin has given him — the honor, the pressure, the impossible choice — hangs heavy between them.

To accept means to step into the fire of competition, dragged into salons and parlors, measured against pedigrees and fortunes he does not have. To decline means watching from the margins, apron tied, trays balanced, serving the event where Seungmin is to be courted by everyone but him.

Either choice feels unbearable.

And yet—Felix has always known Seungmin was trouble. Gorgeous, sharp-tongued, rich, and untouchably bold; the moment, the prize, and Seungmin knows just as much, too.
Of course he does. Seungmin wears that knowledge like a crown, like silk, like the smug curve of his mouth now as he watches Felix squirm. He wears it like his tailored, lace suits and gowns with the knowledge that no matter how scandalous or unpredictable, he is the eye of the ton.

“I am not blind,” Seungmin says, softer now, though no less arrogant. “I know what I have handed you. I know it is a lot. But you will manage.” His eyes glint, lashes dark as he leans just close enough that Felix feels the heat of his words. “Because you want me. And my standards are not low, Felix. If you cannot rise to meet them, someone else will. But I think you can. I think you will prove it. I think—more than anybody—you’ve earned that chance.”

Felix swallows hard, parchment tight between his fingers. His honey-scent spikes again — excitement, mischief, the kind of sharp admiration that threatens to undo him. He wants to laugh, to curse, to grab Seungmin by the shoulders and demand if he has any idea just how impossible he is.

But of course he knows.

And still, Felix cannot tear his eyes away. He was all too aware of the audacity and bravery his dear prince held, they have been familiar for far too long for him not to. Today, his understanding and appreciation for those traits is being tested.

Felix does not answer. Does not agree, does not refuse. He only grips the parchment for a moment, deliberate and careful, before tucking it into the cupboard above the flour sacks — somewhere safe, somewhere he knows Seungmin will see it has not been discarded. Then, as if to underline the point, he flicks the latch on the kitchen door, a subtle click echoing in the quiet.

When he finally turns back, all the storm of his scent is smoothed over, honey curling rich and lazy in the air. His smile is slow, dangerous, practiced.

“Oh, sweet prince,” he drawls, deep voice firing something hot in Seungmin’s spine as he prowls closer, “how ever can I repay you?”

Seungmin scoffs, ready with a cutting remark, but his stomach betrays him, flipping tight and knotted. His mind leaps — unwanted, unstoppable — to the memory of Felix’s mouth, the reckless magic of his tongue, the way Seungmin had bitten back every sound until he simply could not anymore, biting his lip with the bakers hair in his grip.

His dress today is loose, chosen with intent, and he thanks himself for it now when Felix presses close, the counter hard against his spine. The smile turns wicked. Felix does not wait to be graced with an answer, before his hands bracket Seungmin’s hips, guiding him back against the bench in the far corner with infuriating ease. Then he sinks, easy as breath, disappearing beneath the drape of the other omega’s fabric.

Seungmin’s pulse roars. Every nerve remembers, every inch of him sparks. And when Felix exhales warm against his thigh, it’s as inappropriate incorrect as ever, and he knows he should shove him away— but god—

He doesn’t.

For all but 20 minutes, Seungmin fights to keep quiet and Felix fights to drain his will and strength before supper. When Seungmin floats out of the kitchen, walking lopsided and his smile shy, crooked—Felix encourages him to get going with a slap to his behind, assisting him at climbing in his carriage from the sidewalk, licking his lips to make sure no evidence and no proof rests anywhere of their… quarrels.

When Seungmin and Angwi are settled, Felix gazes up at the other omega from the ground, knowing, excited, Seungmin’s hand in his hold as he rubs a thumb over the back of his palm. “I will be there.” he tells him, loud enough for the two of them to hear. “I know that much, but in what way?”

Felix smiles, hitting the side of the carriage to signal a go ahead for the footman, a loud “hyah” and crack of whips is heard, and within a moment, their off. “See you there, pretty prince.” is all he replies with.

Seungmin watches from the carriage window as a smug Felix fades into the distance, arms crossed and flour on his apron, and only when he is gone does Angwi speak.

“Ma prince, you really must learn to control that volume. What would you have done if I hadn’t distracted those workers?”

‘Tis silent only for a few moments, before the pair burst into giggles, the small space filled with their laughter, Seungmin’s gloved hands hiding his face.

Seungmin sits at the dinner table, chewing peacefully as his mothers and sisters laugh with one another over their main course. He smiles small and soft, content even as one of their staff members approaches him when a piece of paper on a tray, delivering what seems to be a letter.

His family continues on with their conversation, paying no mind as they all get mail at the table on occasion, while Seungmin runs his fingers across the script on the back of the paper.

“ℒ𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝑜𝒻 ℋ𝑜𝓊𝓈𝑒 ℋ𝓌𝒶𝓃𝑔.”

To the Love of House Kim,

Forgive the boldness of my hand — I cannot feign restraint when my thoughts have been consumed by you from the very moment my eyes met your features. It feels almost indecent that the world continues on, unshaken, when my chest carries such upheaval.

I will not flatter you with common praises. You are no ordinary beauty to be captured by ink, nor a prize to be displayed upon another’s arm. You are brilliance made flesh, a flame too clever to be contained. To write to you is to attempt the impossible, and yet I am compelled, hopelessly, as though the quill itself refuses to be still until it has spilled your name across the page.

I ask for no reply. I am content to have spoken into the silence, to know that perhaps you will hold this letter for even a moment in your hands. But should you ever find the hours as restless as mine, know that I would spend every one of them gladly, if only to stand a pace nearer to you.

Ever yours,
Hwang Hyunjin

Seungmin tried to finish dinner, tried to move on without distraction, but the words lay heavy yet weightless in his chest. Even as Angwi undressed him and bathed him of the day’s particles, his heart stuttered each time his gaze returned to the letter.

Hours later, the bath still steamed around him. His arm dangled lazily over the tub’s edge, hand curled around the creased parchment he had read and reread. Across the room, Angwi sat at his vanity, parting her hair with calm precision, her reflection watching him more than the mirror did.

At length she rolled her eyes, playful, and set the brush down.
“Hwang Hyunjin, wannit?” she asked, smiling as Seungmin flinches, tethered suddenly back to the present by her voice. Seungmin’s fingers tightened faintly around the page, water rippling as he sank a little lower into the tub.
“You read it?” he asked, voice low, though it wasn’t quite an accusation — more the nervous flutter of someone suddenly seen.

Angwi only lifted her brows, all innocence. “You been staring at it so long, I’d have to be blind not to notice the name.”

A flush rose to his cheeks, warmer than the bath. He pressed the letter to his chest as though that could shield him from her teasing gaze. “It is foolish,” he muttered, trying for dismissal. “Overwrought and… ridiculous.”

“And yet,” Angwi said lightly, “you done pruned yourself in hot water for an hour just to reread it. Ridiculous must be real sweet.”

Seungmin’s lips parted, caught, then curved despite himself into the smallest of smiles — a smile he quickly ducked behind the parchment. “I should throw it away.”

“You ain’t.” She leaned back in her chair, a grin tugging at her own mouth now. “Your heart’s beatin’ too loud for that.” Seungmin huffed, gliding his fingers over the ink — though his careful grip betrayed the lie. “You make too much of it,” he said, eyes lowered. “It is just a letter. Words are cheap.”

“Not when they been wrote with that much ink,” Angwi countered, smirking as she crossed one leg over the other. “You’d think he was spilling blood, not poetry.”

That startled a laugh from Seungmin before he bit it back, cheeks pink. “Stop—”

“Oh, I won’t,” she said, leaning forward now, conspiratorial. “Hyunjin. A painter, isn’t he? Tall, with hair like he walked out of one of his own canvases. A romantic if I’ve ever seen one.” Her grin widened when Seungmin refused to meet her eyes. “Imagine the scandal if you let him court you properly. Letters at every meal, bouquets arrivin’ at the door. Your mothers would faint dead away.”

Seungmin buried his face in his hand, half-hiding, half-laughing at her boldness. “You are shameless.”

“I’m practical,” Angwi corrected with a sly tilt of her head. “If he means to stir your heart, then why not let him? He’s already stirred your bathwater with all that sighing.” Seungmin groaned, though it dissolved into a smile he could not quite repress. “And if this is only a game to him?”

“Then we play it betta,” she replied without hesitation, brushing the last of her hair smooth and glancing back at him, eyes sharp and certain. “No poet, no painter, no beta or alpha — no one gets to toy with you. Not while I’m hea.”

Seungmin sighs, letting himself melt fully into the water as Angwi takes the letter from his hand, walking to his bedside and tucking it into his dresser’s drawer, burning out some of the candles around the room.

“At ease, sugar. Tomorrow brings a new day and new possibilities, we gone’ face ‘em together when the time comes. And who knows? Maybe your lil admirer will send you another love letter tomorrow.
Suengmin wants to play hard to get, to deny the beating his heart does at the thought that someone would pour their heart out on a page deliberately and repeatedly. But he is safe and content where he is, so he does not deny the steadily swelling affection in his chest.

“Do you think so?” Seungmin’s eyes light up as he watches Angwi move to position herself behind him and begin scrubbing his back. She giggles, entertained and fond of his infatuation. “Oh yes, sugar. I think with the way he wrote to you in that letter, the distance between you two right now—however great— is simply suffocatin’ him. Maybe even more than you.”

Seungmin smiles, silently to himself. Past his outer exterior and chaotic nature, he is not but a boy, with strong emotions and a beating heart. Here, in the privacy of his bath tub in his bedroom, he makes no attempt at taming his excitement.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶⊹︶︶

Chapter 4: Mendacious

Notes:

Heyy, I was not worried about updating this fic, even though the next three chapter are done cause nobody seemed to like it as much as I did. But someone said they were looking forward to an update, so here we are.

Happy reading!

Chapter Text

Preparations continue as scheduled, and the letters keep coming. Angwi rushes to his side to look over his shoulder each time he’s handed a new piece of paper. They giggle, Seungmin allowing his excitement to creep out only when Angwi is near enough to validate it, holding his soft heart with tender hands.

Meanwhile, the town is buzzing with assumptions and hopes of who will be at the Kim-Suu Family’s ball. Seungmin chooses decorations and picks out the competent from incompetent. The subject of music and dancing comes up. And there seems to be a lot to unpack within the particular subject.

“So, brother, who exactly is it you want playing at your ball? And what dances do you want to do? Mother Tilly says you have been putting it off.” She teases as they are going through drape colors for the ballroom. Seungmin looks up from where he stares at a cream white piece of paper, glaring at his sister before Tilly can manage to stammer in and correct Minju.

“I said no such thing, I said you simply had been neglectful of giving me a final decision.”
Seungmin only glances at her before collecting a stack of colored papers, sighing as he puts the cream slip in the center.

“I simply have not–” Seungmin says, tone clipped, “---made up my mind.”
“That is a poor excuse.” Tilly crosses her arms, feathers of her shawl brushing the drapes piled for inspection. “Musicians must be booked, rehearsals must be scheduled, and I—”

“—want to avoid another disaster like Cousin Yura’s ball, I know,” Seungmin interrupts, smoothing the cream paper flat with an unbothered air. Minju snorts, delighted at the memory. “The fiddler who fainted. The waltz that turned into a brawl. Honestly, brother, if you do not choose soon, Mother will assume you want the military band.”

Seungmin glares at her, though his heart jumps at the thought. Not the band, not some stranger plucking at strings. No — he wanted someone whose music meant something. Someone he would rather ask with his own lips than have penciled into a ledger by a steward.

He shuffles the papers to buy time. “I will give you my answer when I have one. Until then, concern yourself with drapes and allow me to concern myself with music.”
Minju leans in slyly, a grin tugging. “So you do have someone in mind.”

Seungmin resists the twitch at his mouth. He knows better than to give his sister the satisfaction. Instead, he places the cream slip atop the pile with finality, as though that settles all matters.

Tilly exhales, long-suffering. “Darling, the musicians will not appear out of air because you frown prettily. Tell us whom you wish, and I shall see it done.”
“No, mother.” Seungmin lifts his chin, a rare defiance. “This one task is mine. I will see to it myself.”

In truth, his mind had long since settled. It was not indecision that held his tongue but the impossible task of shaping a request into something that did not sound like yearning. For only one name sat in his heart—Han Jisung, the state’s unrivaled virtuoso, composer of brilliance and performer of fire. Not a choice, but the only choice.

Seungmin had always taken what he wanted. Whether offered freely or pried loose with charm and will. Spoiled, perhaps, but never passive. He had clawed his way up from an orphanage; he would not stumble now over something as simple as naming a musician.

For example, 3 weeks before his ball, when he has neglected to expose his decision for music and dance for the event. Letters and letters come from what has to be more than 200 musicians, offering their service for the Kim-Suu family’s ball due to their lack of announcement on who was to be their choice.

Everyone is buzzing with gossip, about how the ball is likely to be canceled or the events announcement was only to attract attention. As well as countless other reasons which the people of the ton throw out aimlessly to make their lives more interesting. Even so, as the days tick by and the hours pass, Seungmin does not give in.

But finally, one day, while Seungmin is checking mail, strolling through his grand home on the way to his room, a specific name on one of the letters from that day catches his eye.

“To His Highness Prince Seungmin of Kim-Suu, regarding the music of his forthcoming ball”

He tore the wax open before it cooled, heart thundering. Cinnamon sharpened in the air as he devoured the lines, glancing once over his shoulder like a thief caught in delight.

Your Highness,

Word has reached me that the matter of music for your forthcoming ball remains unsettled. Forgive the boldness of my pen, but it is my belief that music must be shaped not only by occasion but by the very hand and heart of its host. To that end, I would be honored if Your Highness might permit me the opportunity to wait upon you, that I may hear from your own lips the vision you hold for the evening.

If it should please you, I will bring my violin, that you may judge not only my words but the sound itself. It is my humble hope that such a meeting might prove of service in easing your decision.

I remain, Your Highness,
Your most obedient and devoted servant,

Han Jisung

Seungmin swallows, eyes wide as he rereads the letters, the wording is particular, suggestive. Not formally professional, but for someone like Seungmin, nowhere near inappropriate. His heart stutters in his chest.

Unable to contain his enthusiasm, he walks speedily through the mansion, his heel boots beneath his boots clicking through the hall as he makes his way downstairs to the servants quarters. As he passes staff members and help, per usual, they whisper amongst themselves, but bow and curtsy even at awkward angles out of respect.

It is considered inappropriate for someone of Seungmin’s status to be below ground with the help. In the eyes of others, he is lowering himself from his elevated pedestal to grovel with the lower class, but Seungmin has never seen things that way, so he cares not for what is and is not technically appropriate.

For a prince, even setting foot below ground was a trespass of propriety — a descent from pedestal to pit. But Seungmin had never feared scandal. Long before Angwi, he wandered down to chatter, to fetch what he could have rung for, to relish the click of his heels echoing on stone. He liked walking, liked conversation, liked drama, liked the reminder that beneath silks and titles they were the same.

Still, he knew precisely how it looked — a royal barging unannounced into the cramped quarters of a maid. Propriety would have him knock, request, wait. Instead, he threw the door wide and launched himself headlong. By the time Angwi turned, skirts were flying and laughter was spilling, and the two of them collapsed in a heap of linen and shrieks on her narrow bed.

They end up tangled, side by side facing one another on the bed, neither of them able to shut up until Angwi is finally able to catch her breath and speak. “What’s got you so giddy, ma prince? Lawd, you look downright exuberant this mornin’.”
Seungmin’s smile only grows as he sighs dreamily, slipping the letter from the top of his corset and handing it to the woman.

Angwi takes the letter, examining the words on the back and the symbol on the wax stamp. Her eyes nearly triple in size, mouth falling open in stunned silence.
“Is this–”
Seungmin nods vigorously, Angwi unfolding the paper, eyes darting across the ink as the omega tries his hardest to contain his joy.

“He writes like a suitor, sugar,” Angwi breathed, her eyes sparklin’ as she traced the ink like it might vanish any second. “Not some hired man—a proper suitor. Ma prince, you done gone and snared him!” Angwi and Seungmin tangle in each other's arms again, dresses a mess of fabric where they lay enveloped in one another, laughter and solicitous emanating in the room.

Staff drifted past the door, giggling, whispering — a prince tangled on a maid’s bed was scandal enough to feed tongues for weeks. But Seungmin and Angwi gave it no heed, drunk on laughter, wrapped in a world of their own.

“Should I write back to him for ya, sugar? Or have him come ‘round this evenin’?”
“Of course! We have to be calm about our efforts though, lest I look like I was begging for him to come.” Seungmin says as he refolds the paper, pushing it back into his corset.

“He’ll think he’s mighty proper, comin’ with that violin and all his polite manners,” Angwi teased. Seungmin tipped his head back in sinister laughter, eyes glinting. “Let him. Let him believe it is innocence. What shall we do? Dinner? A rehearsal? I could have him ushered in under my name, doors locked.” Angwi’s grin was wicked.

“Or tea,” Seungmin mused, head tilted, savoring the sound of it. “Let him think himself proper—until he is not.”
“Whatever you say, sugar, it’s all up to you. I reckon you’ll have him charmed no matter how it comes about.”

At some point, Seungmin returns upstairs with Angwi in tow, sorting through the rest of his mail that he’d neglected in order to bask in Jisung’s generosity. A familiar script font is on one of the letters he has, and with all the positive news he is receiving, Seungmin wishes he had not put off the receiving of his letters to extend vocal practices with his sisters.

In his defense, Minju and Nari were more than competent when it came to keeping up with his runs, and singing with them became less than a chore many years ago.

The letter again read, once more,

“ℒ𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝑜𝒻 ℋ𝑜𝓊𝓈𝑒 ℋ𝓌𝒶𝓃𝑔.”

Seungmin’s heart stutters, something the has been happening so often he thinks he might have to call on a witch doctor to check on him. He breathes, slow and deliberate to try and steady his trembling hands as he opens the mail, fighting the urge to beam at yet another letter finding him safely. Hyunjin of house Hwang was quite the romantic, and Seungmin was more than ecstatic to be on the receiving end of such advances.

Where Jisung wrote like a craftsman, Hyunjin wrote like a confessor. One promised fire in public halls, the other whispered secrets in dark corners. Both left Seungmin reeling, his pulse caught between chandelier and candlelight. Seungmin broke the seal with far less grace than he liked to show in front of Angwi, but Hyunjin’s letters had that effect—shaking the polish right off him. Inside, the hand was the same sweeping elegance, but the words were bolder this time, edged with yearning.

“Last night, I dreamt again of your voice. It came to me as if through marble halls, echoing soft and endless, until I could not tell if it was song or prayer. When I woke, the silence was unbearable. If you will allow me, I would chase that silence to the ends of the earth, if only to hear you once more.”

Seungmin read it twice, maybe three times, cheeks warming. He folded the parchment quickly, far too aware of Angwi’s sharp eyes at his side, though his fingers lingered on the edges as if reluctant to let go. Hyunjin’s words tangled him up in a way Jisung’s music hadn’t—quieter, secretive, yet somehow more dangerous. One promised brilliance before the world; the other whispered intimacy in the dark.

The complication is that Seungmin has to choose in the end, love in the dark or in the light? Because his two unofficial, rivaling suitors, are much less than alike.

Angwi takes the letter from Seungmin, raising a suggestive brow at him, but saying nothing as she heads upstairs to add it to the growing collection of notes in the omega’s desk drawer. Seungmin takes a moment, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth until he is so serene he is bordering on lightheaded, before turning to make his way up to his bedroom.

There, Seungmin allows Angwi to change his clothing, something simple and pretty, that flows and moves like water or willow tree leaves in the wind. It is a good day, his mood bubbly with the combination of Maestro Han’s visit looming and Lord Hyunjin’s letter burning a hole in his drawer.

Today, Angwi chooses a dress. By the color and the decor on it, Seungmin can tell the woman has adjusted to his preference extremely quickly. In their society, there's a sea of expectations and a hierarchy of subgender.

One of the spoken ones everyone is expected to know is how the three distinct roles are supposed to dress. Alpha are seen as weak or submissive, less than competent if they were to bask in bright lively colors. They are to wear darker colors, female or male, with tinted shades that are not too bright or alive.

Omegas are to be dressed with the most feminine, soft colors there are. But pink, cream and baby blue are colors that are exclusive to female omegas. A male omega wearing pink or cream, but especially pink, is considered wrong and whoreish, as if it means their presenting to the nearest alpha near them, so desperate for alpha attention they lower themselves to the level of an omegan woman.

Seungmin wears white and cream on a regular basis, as well as his favorite color, lavender purple. His fondness of the colors is considered unfit and highly graceless, people never hesitate to think him sick in the head because of his fashion towards, but they say nothing to his face. After all, his dresses are made in the castle and approved by the queen and royal seamstress themselves, no one dare question the official, head royal's approval outwardly.

Certain materials and attributes were odd off as well, on men, silk, satin, ribbons, long trains and large dresses were all uncommon when it came to men, even male omegas. The idea was that you could go up above your station in the pyramid as much as you wanted, which is why regular dresses and suits were never an issue, but going down was considered lowly, making you undesirable. Unless it was up to women, especially omegan woman. Cause god knows if a woman was seen walking the streets in a suit they would be chased from the kingdom with torches lit on fire.

Seungmin never cared, his mothers advised their tailors and dress makers on occasion, but he more or less was able to wear what he wanted.

But this was definitely going to be pushing it.
The gown Angwi fastened at his back stole his breath. Pink—scandalous, damning pink—its low back glittering with silver flowers, its train sweeping like a coronation robe. A bit too large, too feminine, too women, when Seungmin was a man.
Too pretty, too perfect.

“Is it too much, ma prince?” Angwi peeks from behind Seungmin, where she is fluffing out and unfolding material from beneath his tail. Seungmin blinks, breathless. He knows not what to say or where to start, so he simply gapes at his reflection for a few long seconds, until he finds the words.

“How did you get something so scandalous by my mothers?” is what he says first, still half in shock. Angwi shrugs shyly, she looks towards the door behind them to make sure nobody’s listening in. “It ain’t from your wardrobe, or the castle.” She whispers, a smile pulling at her lips though she clearly tries to hold it back.

“I made it,” she whispered, as if afraid the mirror might tell on her.

For a moment Seungmin simply stared. Surely she was jesting. A servant’s hand could not produce this—the embroidery alone rivaled the finest court seamstress. Yet the longer he looked, the more he saw her fingerprints in every choice of thread, every daring line of cut. His breath caught, and he turned slowly toward her, disbelief warring with awe.

“You?” he whispered. His tone carried more shock than question, and Angwi flushed, twisting her fingers together. She laughed too quickly, but her eyes betrayed her—the hungry gleam of someone who knew she had created something greater than she dared admit.

“Where did you get the materials for something like this?”

Angwi smiles, playing with her fingers still as she watches Seungmin’s reflection alongside him.
“Folk with all their privilege sure do throw away a heap o’ beauty. The castle bins more silk than I’ll ever lay eyes on in my life.”

Seungmin gaped, spinning on her with disbelief. “The trash? Angwi,” Seungmin turns back to the mirror, turning to look at the material hand sewn into the tail of the dress. Seungmin’s hands closed over hers, fierce, reverent.

“This is no scrapwork. This is a crown, Angwi. And if I wear it, I wear your genius upon my back. It may have started off discarded, but it is so much more than that now thanks to your talent. You have a breathtaking assortment of it.”

He caught the hem in his hands, eyes blazing. “You are no seamstress—you are a magician for crying out loud.”
“Oh stop it, Seungmin. I ain’t. It only took a few hours, ‘sides, one omegas trash—”
“—Is clearly another omega’s masterpiece, because wow. How do I not know about this witchcraft you are doing?”

Angwi giggles, her peach cobbler all pleasant wifts of sweetness now that she knows Seungmin is a fan of her work. “Well if the other staff knew I was dressmakin’ they would talk, and I would have to sock someone, so mostly durin’ late nights when everyone is asleep.”

“You creaton! That is why you have looked so tired the past couple of days, yawning and things of that sort while you are working.”
Angwi only laughs, as guilty as sin. “What can I say? I love making. But I also love you, and I have a job to do. I don’t have no time to worry about such indulgin’ thangs. I am happy to make the sacrifice if I can have my cake and eat it too.”

Seungmin hums, still turning before the mirror, catching flashes of pink and silver that make him look less like a prince and more like a dream made flesh. The thought thrills him, and terrifies him in equal measure. “If the ton could see me now…” he murmurs, half to himself. Angwi tilts her head, eyes sparking with mischief. “Then perhaps they should,” she says. The words hang daringly in the air, and Seungmin feels his lips curve into the slow smile of a man already halfway convinced.

Now, with the height of both of their bravery combined, Seungmin walks through the streets, head high even as people stare him down, Angwi a couple feet behind, heart beating fast and scent matching Seungmin’s with how full of defying attitude it holds. They walk for a while, the shop Seungmin is hoping to visit closer than the bakery or the castle, a stroll worthy distance.

When he enters, Seungmin walks in, smile unshaken and posture conceited. No matter how many eyes look him up and down, whispering to one another, and wether it be about the color or the size of the dress, Seungmin can only think one thing: Let them talk.

Most people prefer to avoid confrontation, to live in peace even if it means their words are not to ever be heard or considered, but some are similar to Seungmin in a way, and scream their opinions from the rooftops because they refuse to be kept quiet. Others bid resemblance, in a much more persistent, ill manner.

“Lord Seungmin.” comes a voice from behind him, as he and Angwi are looking at feathered hand fans, a pretty prestige that is also usually something for only omegan women. Seungmin turns towards the person, recognizing her right away. With the planning of his ball he has not attended any events, so it had been a while since their last talk, never long enough to satisfy Seungmin's wish to escape such a woman, though.

“Lady Kendra.” Suengmin greets, “What a delight, seeing you here. I thought you would be busy with the building of your next home.” The omegas smile is tight lipped, forced onto his face. A result of the advice his mother gave to him when he was younger, something he only follows on occasion. ‘Fake it till you make it.’

“Oh no my lord, my husband decided he would rather die than have a home that is not in the capital city or near the beach, so he is picking up his blueprints and moving them elsewhere. How about your search for a husband, how is that going?” Lady Kendra’s words reek of judgement, her eyes sweeping up and down Seungmin’s gown, face twitching for a moment into something less welcoming.

Seungmin sighed, the weight of her presence falling over him before she even spoke. Not even a full minute in Lady Kendra’s company, and already he felt drained.

“I am not out yet, Lady Kendra,” he said flatly, adjusting the fall of lace at his sleeve. “You would do best to remember that.”

Her gaze swept over him, lingering too long on the fitted bodice and daring sweep of skirts. “And yet you let yourself be trussed up as though you were. Who stitched it for you? Certainly not a respectable tailor. It does not follow tradition..”

Seungmin’s mouth curved, sharp and deliberate. “On the contrary. It was made for me—every seam, every stitch, every pearl. Custom work.”

That drew the smallest blink from her, though she recovered quickly, lips curling into their familiar brittle smile. “Custom, was it? From whom? It almost looks—well, better than it should.” She tipped her head as if dismissing the gown, but her eyes betrayed her: they skimmed over the material, the precise cut, the sheen of pearl detailing with a hunger she could not disguise.

“You want to know,” Seungmin said, catching the slip in her composure. “You want the name.”

Kendra’s voice carried, sharp as glass. “It is beautiful,” she spat, though her lips curled like the word burned. Her gaze darted across every bead, every fold of lace, as though refusing to blink lest she miss a detail. For a heartbeat, Seungmin saw not disdain but hunger, a tremor of awe that she could not swallow down.

When Seungmin smiled — soft, wicked, perfectly unbothered — she realized the answer before he gave it.

“Bluu made it for me.” His words dropped like stones into a pond, sending ripples through every earshot. When the women shows lack of understanding, Seungmin takes mercy on her — despite her ignorance — and nudges his head towards the woman behind him.

Kendra’s laugh faltered, brittle, uncertain. “Your maid?” The word snapped like a whip, lady Kendra’s eye drags over to a smirking Angwi, who does not lower her chin or tame her smile in submission, much to Lady Kendra’s dismay, when she looks back to Seungmin, swallowing thickly.

“You would stand here—wearing a servant’s handwork—as though it were Parisian silk?” Her voice pitched higher with disbelief, cutting through the crowd like a violin string stretched to breaking. “Do you love her so dearly that you would disgrace us all to prove it?”

Seungmin’s chin rose, unbothered by the scandal she laid bare. He let her venom hang in the air, unanswered, as though her outrage proved his point better than words could. The name landed between them like a thrown blade. Kendra’s smile faltered, and her eyes flickered—not with disdain, but something hotter, nearer envy. “How appallingly quaint,” she managed, voice brittle.

“Quaint enough to outshine you, better than yours, whether shoddy or indecent” Seungmin replied, tilting his head, letting his eyes sweep her bodice with deliberate pause at its uneven seams. “Angwi is cleverer with a needle than the woman who cobbled yours together. Cleverer still in knowing what I like. What I love.”

Her jaw locked. He had not only named his seamstress but declared his devotion, however slyly. To Lady Kendra, it was insult twice over: not just the triumph of another woman’s skill, but the proof that Angwi commanded Seungmin’s loyalty and affection in ways she never could.

Kendra’s only answer was a brittle laugh. “How unruly, indeed. I do not think I am so without morals that I wear the work of a lesser servant, no matter how… unlikely appealing.”

He let her outrage hang in the air, savoring the way her gaze lingered on the gown. It was curious—he suspected she wasn’t merely disturbed that a servant had crafted it. No, it was the color of her hands, her very place in the household, that made the brilliance sting. A Black maid making a gown finer than Lady Kendra’s own—that was the thorn beneath her polished disdain.

The thought settled, sharp and satisfying. The idea of her passing judgment not only because Angwi was a servant, but a Black servant who had made something beautiful for someone not meant to wear it, made his satisfaction bloom—unfurling through him like something alive.

Seungmin smiled wider. “Lovely of you to attempt to inform me of your advice, but I do not believe I should take your word for it. I mean, you are wearing clothing not suitable for a male omega.”

The woman cracked her fan open, waving it as she spoke too loudly for such a crowded space. “You are going to scare away the few suitors who might have dared to even get close to you, instead of reeling them in like you ought to be.”

Seungmin’s response comes quickly, sharp in a way that fails to disturb the omega’s collected expression. “I am sure you know all about reeling them in Lady Kendra, your husband is an expert at it, clearly. Even 10 years into your marriage. Could there be a possibility that he does love you and that he is simply teaching you his craft?”

Lady Kendra froze for a heartbeat, her fan trembling slightly in her hand. Then, with a tight, controlled smile, she hissed, “You always were clever with your words, Seungmin. But cleverness without decorum is still… unbecoming.”

Seungmin tilted his head, letting the light catch the pink shimmer of his gown. “Unbecoming? Perhaps. But then again, my dear Lady Kendra, I wear this for me. And for those brave enough to see beyond what society deems proper. I will not be kept in a box by your cowardly ways of constriction. Anyone who is simply has little relevancy in my book, though I know such a person would be the perfect plaything for eavesdropping little cunts like you, as well as the ones listening in on us at the moment.”

A few people around the three scramble or clear their voices, proceeding to pretend as if they are not listening in. But Seungmin knows better. “Let us not forget about those of the ton who believe they are better than me because they follow a few dreary ordinances.” Seungmin breaks his poker face to give a sweet smile, like he has not insulted every lady in a hundred mile radius.

Angwi stepped closer, her presence like a silent shield. Her eyes, bright and unwavering, met Kendra’s with quiet defiance, as if to say: Not today. Seungmin felt a thrill surge through him—not just from the gown, the shimmer, the audacity—but from the fact that he was not alone in this.

“Ahem, I see,” Kendra said slowly, her voice sweet but cutting. “You are daring to defy them all, are you? A spectacle, nothing more. And yet…” Her eyes narrowed, voice dropping slightly, “…even a spectacle can have consequences. Tell me, boy. Why are you so against just being a good omega? Hm?”

The woman turns her head like it is a personal offense, because of this, Seungmin lets his smile linger on his lips.

“Well, Lady Kendra. Firstly, you playing that role got you what? A cheating husband, and children who never visit?” Seungmin’s slow and deliberate smile curves up into a sinister laugh that never fails to strike either amusement or irritation as he throws his head back gracefully. He barely contains himself before speaking again.

“Good omegas do not make history, they make the books. And consequences are merely the applause of those afraid to speak their minds. I do not fear them.” He let the words linger like a challenge, watching her flinch at their weight.

The shopkeeper, uneasy under the tension, cleared his throat across the room. Seungmin ignored him, knowing full well that all eyes were on this duel of words and wills. The whispers and glances of other shoppers became background music, a low hum that only fueled his sense of power.

Lady Kendra straightened, her composure returning, though the edge in her eyes remained. “Well, I will leave you to your… pursuits, Lord Seungmin. I am sure your admirers are waiting for you to stumble, and I would hate to disappoint them.”

Seungmin tilted his chin slightly, the movement almost regal, defiant. “They may wait, but I rarely disappoint. Perhaps you should take note, Lady Kendra.”

As she swept out of the shop, fan in hand, Angwi let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You do enjoy this far too much.”

Seungmin chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. “Only when it is worth it. And some days, chaos is delightful company.”

They turned back to the feathered fans, Seungmin’s eyes scanning the delicate designs with a newfound precision. But his mind remained elsewhere, buzzing with the thrill of having held his own against some of the ton’s sharpest judgments, once again. And perhaps, just perhaps, enjoying it more than he appropriate.

The chatter of the shop picks up again, everyone going back to half finishing their shopping, the other half staring at Seungmin’s bold choice of dress. The women around them come and go, but Seungmin and Angwi stay put, taking into account the beauty in every hand fan or shaw or heel as they browse together.

“Want to know a secret?” Seungmin turns to Angwi as they are trying on bows and barrettes in the mirror. “Always, sugar.” the woman answers without missing a beat. “Your designs are better than the paintings on these fans, I think. They could not even begin to compare.”

Angwi laughs off the compliment, shoving at Seungmin and crossing her arms.
“I am serious! You are now my very best friend, so I must be honest with you.”
“Oh, stop it, Seungmin! You are playin’ up my talents. I ain’t all that, not as you make me out to be.”

Seungmin only grins at her, refusing to withdraw the praise, the sparkle of their shared teasing still hanging between them—until Angwi suddenly stills. Her nose twitches, the laughter slipping from her face as she glances toward the hallway.

“Do you smell that?” she murmurs, distracted now, head turning from doorway to doorway like she’s hunting something invisible.

Seungmin’s amusement falters, the warmth in his chest souring as his own senses catch up to hers. It hits hard—thick and acrid—the heavy smoke of desire burning his lungs. He coughs, startled by the strength of it, realization sinking like ice into his bones. An alpha. Close.

Angwi is no longer the lovely, caramel skinned sweetheart Seungmin’s so used to bantering with, she is in protection mode, the other omega can see the manner at which her gaze calculates their surroundings.

Neither of the two are smiling anymore, not with the way Seungmin’s eyes water at the predatory aroma surrounding him, or the manner at which Angwi’s laugh has vanished, replaced with intense, guarded posture that is less than comforting.

Angwi casually hooks an arm around Seungmin’s, bringing him to the counter to purchase the few things he’s taken interest in. As she speaks, she keeps her voice low, and body language casual. Seungmin tries his best to do the same, though he knows not how successful he is with the feeling of being watched heavier than his dress.

“I do hope whoever it is coming from is simply a bystander. But I have a feelin, ma prince. So I do suggest we hurry on home.”
Seungmin nods exhaling shakily as the woman checks their total and Seungmin pulls a bill from his pouch, handing it to the woman without waiting for a change. She says thank you and goodbye a bit too loudly for their situation, but still, Seungmin turns back and waves, giving her a tight smile as they book it towards the door.

When they make it out onto the busy streets of the city, dodging parasols and bowing to those with more courage than the ones who stare, it only takes a moment for the scent to hit his nose again, amidst the hundreds of people, going about their business and content on their strolling and chatting. ‘Tis peculiar, it smells — like smoke, as well as — rotting roses.

Seungmin hesitates in his next step, his legs trembling momentarily where they hold his weight beneath him when the hair on the back of his neck stands, straight as sharpened arrows. He turns, eyes immediately finding Angwi’s where she grips the box of his that she is carrying, and he knows she feels it too.

“Keep walking, sugar.” She says, low and steady. Seungmin swallows hard, turning forward, forcing his legs to carry him on. His heels strike the pavement faster, sharper, though his skin crawls as if eyes are still boring into the back of his neck. When he dares one last glance, the man is gone—swallowed by the crowd. His choking scent fading into nothing but an unsettling memory.

Only when he is gone, and the two of them are down the street from the estate does either of them speak. “Who the fuck was that?” he breathes, finally. Angwi does so with him, heart slowing as they approach the door. “I ain’t sure, I don’t reckon I know that scent. I would like to blame the unsettling undertone of them on the nature of their scent, but I know even peculiar scents be pleasant in varyin’ situations.” and it is true. Seungmin had met people with putrid and ghastly scents that are made charming with the help of the person's strong positive emotions,

Seungmin says nothing in reply as Angwi opens the door to the grand home, flashy and royal, a love letter from Queen Raveena to the Kim-Suu family. Seungmin has always loved his home — what it meant and where it came from — but now, he wishes for the first time it was less eyecatching.. Less known.

“Come, sugar. All will be alright, you protected here. Let us get you washed up and changed, before Maestro Jisung shows up.”
Seungmin looks to the woman, nodding. He allows her to lead him to his room by hand, attempting to leave his discomfort at the large double doors of his home.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶⊹︶︶

Chapter 5: Onward

Notes:

Last chapter got lots of love, so here's the next four thousand words because I love y'all and want y'all to know the fic loves you as much as you love it.

We are closing in on the balllll peopleeeeee TIGHTEN UP, it shall be happening very soon and I expect y'all to be in the comments shaking throwing up and pissing when it does.

Happy mfkn reading! 🎀

Chapter Text

Mood Board

Before Jisung’s arrival is announced, Seungmin is still tense from their near encounter with the smoke aroma.

The nature of it: smoke. A thing that destroys and kills, yet also provides warmth and light. Any scent could be pleasant, if its owner was. But this one was not. It was not neutral or resting, but active, laced with malice.

Seungmin was no stranger to the stink of cruelty—he’d lived under the ton’s scrutiny since the day he was adopted. But this… this was something else entirely. Possessive. Controlling. Poisonous. Dangerous.

It was possessive and controlling, it was poisonous, it was danger.
But the scent that overtakes Seungmin now is nothing like that.
A staff member knocks before sliding the door to the room Seungmin is occupying open, while he is out of it, stirring his cup of tea when the silence is broken.

“Master Han Jisung, my prince.” one of the butlers announced, making room to allow the man in question to step through the large doors. Behind him, Angwi places a comforting hand on top of his shoulder as Jisung no doubt draws closer, the omega placing his hand on top of hers in quiet thanks.

Seungmin smells him before he sees him, fresh cherries wafting through the air only seconds before Jisung enters the space. He is gorgeous, his beta scent as captivating as the diamonds sewn onto his violin case, or the ones adorning the belt cinched tightly around his fully black suit, tailored to his thick body—all big arms and rippling pectorals, even through the dark material.

White lace sleeves covered his hands, which were gripping a guitar case identical to the shiny violin one he held in his opposite grip. Flashy, a man who indulges in the money he makes, Seungmin is charmed for all of ten seconds The musician seems though he is bewitched by the omega’s poised poker face at the wrong moment, his foot catching on the edge of the carpet before he has a chance to bow in greeting.

His cases fly through the air as he falls forward, flailing in an animated and silly way that surprises Seungmin, the man unable to stop himself from outwardly laughing at him. The omega proves unable to contain his giggles, clutching his stomach as he tries desperately to breathe and ask if he is okay. He is barely successful. “My, are you alright?” he manages between gasps of air.

The musician is sheepish, smiling shyly. “That… was deliberate. I assure you, yes…” he attempts to assure Seungmin as he scrambles to fix the carpet and pick up his instruments one by one, trying his best to return to his feet while comically stumbling back onto the ground a couple more times.

A ripple of laughter moved through the room, but none louder than Seungmin’s startled laugh, pressed quickly behind his hand. “Deliberate?” he echoed, tilting his head. “An interesting courtship strategy.” The wording of his statement is somewhat of a trap, at which Seungmin has never been above setting.

“I find it memorable,” Jisung said, attempting dignity but tripping over the words as surely as his feet. He reaches for Seungmin’s hand, his bow nearly knocking him down again before he steadies himself, pressing the lightest kiss to the back of Seungmin’s palm. “And if nothing else, perhaps it makes you smile.”

It did. Too much. Seungmin felt the smoke clear a bit from around his heart, replaced by something lighter, brighter—something he had not meant to let him have. Even so, his shoulders were taut, coiled like a spring. The smoke’s acrid memory still lingered in his chest, curling around his lungs and throat, a residue of malice he simply could not quite shake. Each breath he took felt careful, measured—too careful, too conscious.

When Jisung approached him—now steady on his feet—Seungmin noticed the twitch in his nose, a moment of hesitation in his bow. He realized in the moment that he must be smelling Seungmin’s unease in his cinnamon scent, though it is unlikely. Betas are said to have senses less perceptive than the other two subgenders, but if Jisung is so insightful to notice his subtle discomfort, that means he is on par with an alpha.

“Allow me?” he smiles softly, reaching down to take Seungmin’s other hand from his lap. He presses a gentle, slow kiss to the back of both his hands instead this time. One, two, three times, before allowing Seungmin his arms back. The omega’s heart flutters, the spot where Jisung’s lips connected on his hand tingling like magic. ‘Tis praise, and Seungmin’s a sucker for it.

The musician wastes no time on small talk, taking the seat closest to Seungmin, flashing him a dopey, gummy smile that is too adorably dorky to not charm the prince. “I am not the most graceful in body, but perhaps my melody can prove to your royal highness that I too have my specialties.”

Jisung carefully set the guitar aside and lifted the violin from its case. The bow hovered over the strings with an almost reverent air, and then, with a soft inhale, music poured out—rich, crystalline notes that wrapped around Seungmin like sunlight through tall windows. Each vibration was precise yet warm, playful yet deliberate, carrying the charm of the performer and the skill of the musician in equal measure.

Seungmin’s chest rose and fell at awe of the melody. Jisung’s music did not merely announce his presence—it colored the room, shifting the stale tension into something lighter, a gentle, teasing warmth that invited Seungmin to breathe, to smile, to move. By the time the last note quivered into silence, Seungmin found himself leaning forward, captivated, eyes wide with genuine awe.

“You…” he breathed, voice caught somewhere between surprise and delight. “You play beautifully.”

Jisung’s bow lingered over the strings for a heartbeat before lowering the violin. “And you?” he asked softly, stepping toward the piano. “Would you share the next piece with me?”

Seungmin’s lips curved into a small, pleased smile. “Of course,” he replied, sliding onto the piano bench with fluid grace. His fingers brushed the keys in a tentative test, then met Jisung’s with a careful harmony as he slides in next to him, shoulders knocking.

At first, their duet was soft, measured, a polite dance of notes. Jisung led gently, weaving a delicate melody, while Seungmin followed, adding subtle counterpoints that elevated the tune without overtaking it.

Across the room, Angwi paused mid-arrangement, her hand lingering on a cluster of roses. She pressed a finger to her lips, suppressing a knowing smile, while the twins leaned forward on the edge of a low table, wide-eyed. “He is… kind of cute,” one murmured. “Weirdly… captivating,” the other replied, both of them enchanted by the interplay between the two men at the piano.

Then, almost imperceptibly, Seungmin began to layer his own flourishes. Each note was confident, precise, a thread of brilliance woven seamlessly into Jisung’s melody. Jisung’s eyes widened slightly, lips parting in a soft whistle of surprise.

“You…” Jisung murmured, admiration brushing against awe. His fingers moved faster, matching Seungmin’s improvisations, adding daring trills and unexpected harmonies.

Seungmin’s laughter—a quiet, teasing sound—danced through the room as he responded, weaving in subtle rhythmic shifts and playful arpeggios. The sunlight, streaming through tall windows, caught on his hair and cast long, dappled patterns across the polished floor, warming Jisung’s face as he leaned closer to the piano. Their hands occasionally brushed, sometimes met in synchronized gestures, each note a gentle nudge, a shared joke, a whispered acknowledgment.

Even Angwi leaned in slightly, drawn into the music’s warmth, and the twins exchanged silent looks of wonder. The soft rustle of Tilly’s skirt and the delicate scent of flowers mingled with the cherry-sweet air surrounding Jisung, creating a cocoon of sensory delight that made every note feel alive.

Finally, they eased into a gentle cadence, the last notes lingering in the air like a sigh. Jisung’s chest rose and fell as he studied Seungmin, awe radiating in his gaze. “You… you are incredible,” he said, voice husky with sincerity. “Not just in talent, but in the way you… breathe life into it.”

Seungmin’s lips curved, a slow, satisfied smile. “Then you should stay,” he said lightly. “I could use a talented partner for these events. Someone to share the music, shape the atmosphere… someone who does not just play, but understands.”

Jisung’s pulse quickened, a thrill of pride surging through him. “If you will allow me,” he murmured, “I would be honored to do both. To be your guest, and your… collaborator.”

Seungmin’s smile widened, heart fluttering gently like sunlight on water. “Consider it done. You are both a guest and an organizer.”

The moment, tender and electric, was gently broken as Mother Tilly appeared at the doorway, her presence as composed and radiant as ever. “Master Jisung,” she said, though her eyes lingered knowingly on Seungmin. “We should tend to the events. They require your attention.”

Jisung straightened immediately, bowing with an awkward elegance that made Seungmin’s chest tighten. Yet his eyes never left Seungmin’s as he spoke, voice soft, deliberate, reverent. “I admire you,” he said. “Not just your music, but the person who commands it. I am devoted to witnessing it, and ensuring it flourishes.”

Seungmin’s pulse fluttered, a giddy warmth rushing through him. He could only nod, speech caught somewhere between awe and delight, as Jisung allowed Mother Tilly to guide him toward the door. Their lingering smiles, subtle bows, and the faint, playful air of promise followed Jisung as he departed.

Once the doorway closed, Seungmin remained seated at the piano, fingers brushing absentmindedly over the keys. The sunlight continued to pool across the floor, the warmth lingering on his skin like a memory. A soft laugh escaped him, chest still aglow. He had been captivated, bewitched, and completely charmed by the man who had entered his room moments before—and left him utterly exhilarated, eager for the next note they would play together.

┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ୨♡୧ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈┈ ┈ ┈ ┈┈ ┈

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣

It’s two weeks from the ball, and the hardwood floors of the Kim-Suu families grand ballroom is lit up with life. Polished shoes squeak on the shiny floor, and the short skirt decorating Seungmin’s suit twirls as he does. And of course, Lee Minho’s voice carried easily over the soft shuffle of feet.

“Kim Seungmin!” he scolded, hands planted on his hips as the music died at his command. “You’re such a nuisance—stop dragging your feet or I will come over there and cut them off myself!” Seungmin stopped mid‑twirl and snickered, hands folded prettily in front of him—the very picture of shameless guilt.

“And lose such fabulous feet?” he drawled. “Never.” Minho’s scowl was all heat and exasperation, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him with a twitch. He crossed to Seungmin in three long, efficient steps and seized the prince’s elbow with the sort of grip that asked for balance and attention rather than apology.

“You know why I am here,” he said low, the private rebuke finding the space between them. “Two weeks until the ball and you have left the choice of your lead to the last possible hour. Do you want chaos or choreography?”

Seungmin tilted his head, lashes lowering like a curtain. “Chaos looks better on paper,” he teased. “Besides, suspense is so dramatic.”

Minho shoved him—gentle, professional—into the correct position and set his own hands at Seungmin’s waist and shoulder with an impatient precision. “It is not theatrics I’m worried about,” he said, voice softer now, teacher‑flat. “It is the way the ton will try to push you into a corner if you appear indecisive. You need someone who knows how to lead you and hold you up.”

Seungmin let the warmth of Minho’s palm anchor him and, for a moment, the room narrowed to the paddle of skin beneath the older man’s grip and the steadying pressure at his back.

He did not correct Minho’s hand when it adjusted, did not pull away when the older man’s fingers flexed to show a step. He allowed himself the indulgence of being guided. “I like the way you press,” he admitted, soft and private.

Minho’s jaw tightened; the words sounded like an accusation and a compliment at once. “Stop flirting and focus. One—two—three, then turn.” He moved them with crisp commands, the steps slipping into the music as if the floor itself remembered how to obey.

Seungmin matched the rhythm easily, translating his musical sense into motion; when Minho counted off a daring pivot, Seungmin answered with a flourish that made the teacher’s iris tilt with a flash of surprise and something unreadable beneath it.

They worked through a combination Minho insisted Seungmin would need: weight shifts that read like invitations, hands that signaled safety, a sweep of the arm that could either deflect an insult or invite a bow.

Minho corrected his posture, frowned at his hand placement, grumbled about theatricality—then demonstrated the move himself, all narrow shoulders and taught muscle, and Seungmin swallowed a smug little smile because Minho’s demonstration made the step look inevitable, inevitable and dangerously intimate.

Across the hall, the twins practiced a promenade; Angwi fussed with a ribbon that would not sit right. The grand ballroom’s hum was domestic and bright, the small noises of preparation folding neatly around the dancers.

Hours of preparation go by, ones filled with lingering touches and charged glances, Minho’s hand guiding Seungmin in graceful circles with hands on his waist and hold. Seungmin baits Minho, as he always has.

He refuses to move with another alpha, to let someone else lead his dance or correct his movements when Minho’s precision is all he’s known since they were both boys, Seungmin learning to dance and Minho learning to teach from his father, who was a professional at the art when they were young.

Minho is and always has been his pick for a lead, even so, Minho refuses to fall victim to Seungmin’s charms so easily.

“Minho,” Seungmin hums as they are working through the choreography again. “What is it, now? I must be frank, I would much prefer you focus on your movements than chitchat with me, I am alarmingly close to walking away from you.”

Seungmin laughs brightly as the dancer's hand finds his middle, guiding him into a spin before guiding him back in, catching the weight of Seungmin’s body in a graceful pull. They are closer than appropriate for a teacher and a student, or an alpha and noble omega, but Seungmin cares little. He knows Minho, trusts him. And the man would never leave him stranded or clueless, an annoyance or not.

“I have told you this is my outting ball, yes?” he hums.

Minho rolls his eyes, but his gaze is soft, no matter how he tries to alter it to make it seem aggressive. “Obviously, Kim Seungmin. I am not here to teach you how to swim for a dip in the pond.”

Seungmin smiles, their hands come together, gazes locked on one another as they rotate in a circle apart from each other, the energy around them charged and full of a chemistry Seungmin has never been able to name as long as they have known one another.

“Then, you are going to attend, yes?” he says.

Minho’s gaze strays from Seungmin’s face as their dance ends. Seungmin watches as the alpha bows, their sway concluding alongside the music. The other dancers and musicians in the room clap at their brilliant display of skill, but Seungmin’s heart remains troubled when Minho will not look his way again.

“Well, the entire ton will be there, so naturally I will be too. My father would not allow us to miss such an event.” He answers, professional in a way that makes Seungmin’s chest tight.

He always hated the appropriate positions their roles put them in, how Minho seems to never let his lingering gazes stick around for too long, or their tender touches mean anything.

“Minho.” Seungmin calls, once that of a whine, a plea for honesty. “Seungmin.” The dancer answers, his eyes are feline like, have been since childhood. And so filled with love for Seungmin that the omega will never understand why it is he is so distant, though he has explained it time and time again.

“I have told you.” He says, voice low as to not alarm anyone around them, though Seungmin could pick up on the discomfort in his dark chocolate from a mile away.

“We were attached from the beginning, you deserve a world of opportunity, Kim Seungmin. I will not allow you to limit yourself to our inevitable relationship when you deserve a world of contingency.”

Seungmin feels ill, his throat enclosing on itself and his hands trembling slightly where they itch to reach for Minho. He is a noble, an omega, he is not to have developing feelings for a man he has been in close quarters with since childhood.

People would assume the worst, that Seungmin was a victim in his own home, that Minho and his father had ill intentions during the long hours they spent preparing the Kim-Suu family for balls and events.

But Seungmin cares not.

He wants nothing more than to dance with Minho at his ball on his night. It is preposterous, to sit ignorantly with one another and pretend they are but student and teacher, acquaintances by duty.

Seungmin feels as if Minho is unnecessarily running from the spark between them, the growing bond that ties their souls together. Even so, year after year, he is unable to change his mind.

“So you would rather we pretend?”

“I would rather let you have the world before you let it narrow down to me.”

Seungmin’s heart beats so hard he can feel it in his ears. His entire being feels like it is little more than a vessel for the organ with his inability to see past it in the moment. Minho wants him to have the world, to find something Seungmin does not even know he is looking for, while Seungmin wants what is right in front of him.

“You are the omegan prince, an heir. There is a world of possibilities out there for you, what if there is a better option you are not seeing because you feel so secure that you do not look? You can grow, meet greater people.”

“And what if I simply know the worth of what is right in front of me?”

The music of practice from the other side of the ballroom seemed to die away. For a heartbeat, Seungmin could hear nothing but the faint rustle of Minho’s sleeve and the quickened thrum of his own chest. He wanted to reach, to close the distance, but Minho’s eyes were on him—fierce, cautious, unreadable.

And then—something else. A shift in the air. A scent not of warmth, nor of cherries, nor even the polished wood of the floorboards. Smoke. Malice. Possessive, creeping.

Seungmin froze. His hand twitched in the very space he had wanted to close, and his gaze darted toward the doorway, then the windows, the doors, beneath tables. Every spot a person could fit he searched it, choking on the air as dangerous pheromones killed his sense of security and safety.

“I would be happy to lead Seungmin’s dance, Master Lee.”

Behind him.

Seungmin whips around, standing behind him was a tall, near pale man of wide stature. Now that they are up close and personal, Seungmin can make out his face and title.

Marquess Ashwell. A name whispered in polite circles, associated with quiet power and an almost obsessive domesticity. His family was known for their soft, homey scents, the kind that suggested warmth and hearth—but this man was the exception.

He carried none of it. Instead, the faint trace of something cold, possessive, poisonous, threaded with danger, wrapped around him. Most assumed he had been hidden away due to some flaw, some defect, but Seungmin knew better: a man with a scent like that would never leave his house unless there was a purpose that served him, and Seungmin now feared he was that purpose.

“I would be honored to serve as your lead for the evening’s dance, Prince Kim,” Ashwell said, his tone smooth and measured, almost reverent. “It would be… improper, I think, for another to guide you in such matters. Allow me, and none shall come between us on the floor. Or after.”

The man steps closer, and suddenly Seungmin feels the need to run. Something about this mans scent is so discomforting, as is the way he looks at Seungmin, like he is an object. Something to be controlled.

He reaches forward, as if to touch the omega, like he cannot help himself. Seungmin stares with wide eyes, he is in his home, his safe place. There is nowhere to go and nowhere for him to hide, Angwi was off fussing with Seungmin’s sister‘s last time he checked, showing them how to tie the bows she had made them.

What was he to do? Where was he to hide? For the first time in a long time, fear rang through the prince’s body like church bells in the middle of the night; sudden and unsettling.

“My prince, please.” His hand reaches for Seungmin’s, which is clutched to his chest, an expression matching the aura of discomfort Seungmin’s expression holds.

Skin ghosts over Seungmin’s as he is pulling out of Ashwell’s reach, and even that feels like a roach scurrying across the surface of his body. Thankfully, Seungmin is tugged away from him, Minho stepping in, shielding the omega with his own body and tucking him behind himself.

He blinks, glancing towards Minho, who stands in front of him like an unshakable force. He glares at the other alpha, easily taller than the both of them, but not more intimidating.

“You have disturbed the prince, Sir Ashwell. Leave.”

Minho’s cutting tone is as steady as the mountains, his gaze poisonous like a vipers bite. Tis not a request, or a query, but a command. Seungmin’s omega dances, swooning within himself where only he can feel it. If he wasn’t so uneasy, he would be purring in this very moment, without a doubt.

Minho had always looked at him like he was more than a person, like he was a soul, a world of difference from the way Ashwell’s eyes gleamed, the kind of hunger Seungmin knew too well — the kind that stripped away titles and names until all that was left was prey and predator. His pulse stuttered, the edges of the ballroom blurring, and for a moment—

‿︵˓ʚ♡ɞ˓︵‿

A hand, smaller than it is now, steady in the air. The echo of polished floors and his own breath hitching as he stumbled, too thin, too new to this life.
“If you stumble,” Minho’s voice had said, firm and kind, “make it into a dance.”
A hand reaching for him. Warm. Certain.

‿︵˓ʚ♡ɞ˓︵‿

The memory vanished as quickly as it came, leaving only the sharp bite of the present. He remembers, even with the danger lurking in front of him, his alpha remains a steady pillar for him to lean on. His arms do and always have always felt like home. Even when Seungmin was new to his family, young and weak.

Angwi’s footsteps cut through the silence, steady and deliberate, the sharp clap of her heels echoing against the marble.

“Well na,” she drawled, voice honeyed but carrying the kind of weight that made even the guards shift. “Ain’t this somethin’? A visitor from the servants’ quarters standin’ where he don’t belong.” Ashwell turned, expression twitching as recognition flashed in his eyes. Angwi smiled, slow and humorless, folding her hands before her apron.

“Funny thing,” she continued, her accent thick as molasses, each word laced with contempt, “one of my girls mentioned a guest came ‘round earlier—claimed he was lookin’ for a member of staff. Then poof.” She snapped her fingers. “Gone, just like that, right ‘bout the time the guards switched out. And here you are, Marquess Ashwell, all wrapped up in our prince’s parlor like a thief in silk.”

The air shifted. Her scent—peach cobbler tinged with compassion and irritation—coiled sharp through the tension.

“I reckon you oughta find your way out before I decide to make good on what happens to uninvited guests,” she said, stepping closer until her shadow brushed his. “And if I ever catch you in this house again without call or summon, I’ll make sure your scent don’t trouble a soul no more. You understand me, sugar?”

Ashwell’s jaw tightened. He opened his mouth to protest, but the guards at the door were already watching her, awaiting her word.

Angwi didn’t even glance their way. “Show ’em the door, boys.”

They moved at once—no hesitation, no request for confirmation. For all the grand hierarchy of the Kim-Suu estate, in that moment, her word was law. Ashwell’s composure cracked, anger flashing in his dark eyes as the guards ushered him out.

Only when the door shut behind him did Seungmin breathe again.

Minho spun as soon as Ashwell disappeared from sight, his hands coming up to Seungmin’s face before the prince could even catch his breath. His thumbs brushed over Seungmin’s flushed cheeks, eyes scouring him for harm, voice low and rough in a way Seungmin had never heard before.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, breath quick, the question trembling with something dangerously close to panic.

Seungmin shook his head, but the tenderness — the rare, unguarded worry etched across Minho’s features — shattered something in him completely. He broke, the tears spilling before he could stop them, warm and wet against Minho’s palms.

“Minho,” he gasped, catching the man’s wrist, clutching it like it was the only solid thing left in the world. “My alpha since arrival—”

Something flickered in Minho’s eyes at that, sharp and aching, but Seungmin pressed on, voice trembling as he spoke through his tears.

“My alpha no matter how my world spins or what parts of it I focus on the most.” His throat burned, tears falling freely now. He thought — or maybe he hoped — he heard Minho growl beneath his breath, something primal, something wounded. “No matter what happens to it or on it, I want you in it. Please, attend my ball as my first dance. You are the only person I would ever humble myself enough to ask directly.”

For a moment, silence. Just the sound of Seungmin’s unsteady breathing and the faint thrum of the ballroom far away. Then, quietly, too quietly, Minho exhaled a short, disbelieving laugh as he caressed the omegas face, swiping tears from delicate skin.

“You make a dangerous habit of testing my resolve. You really do not know when to stop, do you? What a bother you are, pup.” Seungmin shook his head, smile broken but radiant through the tears. “Not when it comes to you.”

Minho’s breath faltered, eyes fluttering shut as though he could avoid the inevitable. His hand slid from Seungmin’s cheek to the back of his neck, firm but gentle, pulling him closer until their foreheads met. And the wonderful scent of dark chocolate surrounded him, grounding, making the prince’s body melt.

“Fine,” he murmured, the word roughened by everything he was not saying. “Fine. If it will stop you from worrying me into an early grave, I will go. But do not expect me to dance easy, Kim Seungmin.”

A watery laugh escaped Seungmin — half sob, half joy — and before Minho could brace himself, he threw himself onto the older man. Minho caught him instinctively, strong arms looping tight around the prince’s waist, steadying him as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“You are impossible,” Minho whispered against his hair, tone rough but warm. “And I am yours.” Seungmin breathed back, muffled against the fabric of his coat, voice trembling. “Even if you will never say it out loud.”

Minho did not respond — not in words. But the slow, deliberate way his hands pressed against Seungmin’s back, the way he exhaled like he’d finally stopped fighting himself… that was answer enough.

Chapter 6: Finishing Touches

Notes:

Teehee.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Seungmin sits in the sunroom, bathed in golden streaks as he reads through a thick-spined fantasy novel. Mother Tilly lounges to his left, serene as always, while the twins sprawl on the floor before them — dresses spread like petals as they attempt to solve a rococo puzzle without cheating by peeking at the box.

‘Tis late morning, just before noon, when his mother begins her gentle chatter about his final jewelry options for the ball — specifically for the change of clothes after his first dance.

“Now, pup,” she muses, “you may wear your favorite color for the opening dance, and then change into your grand attire for the rest of the evening. I do wish for you to make a swift switch, so that you may wear the rubies I did on your first dance — and then whatever you choose thereafter.”

Seungmin perks up at the mention of jewelry, his eyes immediately finding Angwi’s where she is just stepped into the room. They share only a glance — brief, knowing — and that is all the bondmaid needs to leap into motion.

“Ma prince,” she hums, feigning thought, her accent lilting soft as honey. “Ain’t it true you’ve an affair to attend to in town? I do think Mama Tilly’s necklaces been needin’ a new clasp, don’t you?”

Seungmin hums in agreement, the picture of composure.

“Mother,” he says lightly, turning toward her, “Did you not mention ‘tis been some time since your necklaces were last refined and checked for imperfections? I daresay a short stroll into town would do us all some good on a morning so nice.”

Tilly blinks at him over the rim of her teacup, a slow smile tugging at her lips. “You and Angwi do enjoy your little errands,” she says, voice amused but indulgent. “Very well, my dear. Take a carriage — and do remind the jeweler that the clasp on my ruby necklace tends to pinch.”

Seungmin inclines his head with a graceful nod. “Of course, Mother.”

By the time he closes his book and gathers his gloves, Angwi already has that sparkle in her eye — the one that means they’ve gotten away with it.

The carriage ride into town is all chatter and sunlight. The twins had wanted to come, but Tilly shooed them off with promises of sweets later, leaving Seungmin and Angwi to their small conspiracy. Outside, the roads are alive with bustle — vendors shouting, horses clattering, a string quartet playing faintly from the market square.

Angwi tilts her head, eyes on the passing shopfronts. “Now, if I didn’t know no better,” she drawls, “I’d say you look downright pleased with yourself, ma’ prince.”

He smiles faintly, watching the reflection of light ripple across the carriage window. “I am merely ensuring everything is in order for the ball, as any responsible son would.”

“Mm-hm,” she hums, unconvinced. “Responsible’s the word I’d use too.”

“Now,” she says, side-eyeing him with a grin, “you best not let that jeweler of yours keep ya long, ma prince. Can’t be seen loiterin’ about the forges when your ball’s tomorrow.”

Seungmin laughs under his breath, tilting his head toward the window. “I intend to be quick. This is purely business, after all.”

“Mm-hm,” she hums, voice lilting and teasing. “Business. That what we’re callin’ it now?”

He smiles—small, secretive. “It’s what I’ll tell Mother.”

The carriage stops.

The air outside is warm, heavy with the scent of smoke and polished metal. The sound of hammering rings steady in the distance. When Seungmin steps down, he smooths his coat and lets out a slow breath.

“Won’t take long,” he repeats, mostly to himself.

Angwi hums her approval. “Best not, or I’ll go spendin’ your pocket money on sweets.”
Seungmin only giggles as he bounces inside, a pretty smile all too excited for someone who’s supposed to be only out for a jewelry adjustment.

When the prince enters, the bell above the door chimes softly as he slips inside. He waltz past the vacant mess of a the front counter, strolling through the building around a back hallway and down into the basement. Heat greets him at once — the glow of the furnace, and the glimmer of half-finished finery strewn across the worktables.

And there, amid the gold dust and cinders—beneath the loud noise of equipment banging, new peaces of art at work—is Jeongin. He’s covered in soot, smoke, dirt, sweat, you name it. All of the things that decorate a hard working man who’s good with his hands. The the sleeves are torn off of his top to show off slender yet thick muscle flexing in his arms as he cobbles a piece of jewelry on top of a fire into perfection, and Seungmin’s heart speeds up at the display of labor and capability.

He doesn’t realize he has been noticed, as well as caught staring at the hard lines of the mans sculpted arms until he’s beckoned from across the workspace before he can make it in halfway.

“Prince Seungmin.” The man acknowledges as he gets up from his spot near the fireplace, dusting off his hands. Although he is covered in dust and burns, hands calloused and scarred beneath the material protecting his gloves, Seungmin’s heart does a thing at the sight of him.

“Innie.” The omega greets, a small smile that is everything mischievous and not nearly as sweet as it seems playing at his lips.

The man removes his gloves, swiping at the sweat on his forehead as he takes a few steps closer, a knowing smirk on his face, the kind that makes the omegas legs weak. “Have you come back to disturb my peace again, my prince? Or maybe you are just bored, since no one dares approach you before your grand ball, I hope?”

Seungmin strides closer, all grace and poise that doesn’t seem to belong in such a dark and dingy space. He’s without a doubt out of place with his lace and pearl suit, cinched waist, and mesh train decorating him, collecting soot from the air by the moment.

“I am here on my mothers behalf, she would like you to touch up her jewelry, and things of that sort.” Seungmin says, it is not a lie, but it is also not his sole purpose. The jewelry maker sees past it in a moment's notice, tilting his head as he peers at the prince with those intense, aware eyes.

“Liar.” he says, sure of his accusation. “You have mischief cooking in that gaze, prince. What are you really here for? Other than to interrupt my work.” he remarks, Seungmin bounces on his toes as Jeongin continues moving around the workspace, all too excited for their impending back and forth.

Seungmin follows him like a shadow, fingers ghosting across the edge of a cluttered worktable, eyes flicking to every tool and trinket as if they’re the most fascinating things he’s ever seen. “Interrupt? I would never. I am merely observing.”

“Observing,” Jeongin repeats, his voice flat, though there’s a spark of amusement beneath it. He doesn’t turn around, just reaches for a pair of tongs, pulling a glowing metal frame from the furnace. “And do your royal eyes approve of the soot on my floor?”

Seungmin’s lips twitch. “I find it charming. Reminds me of your disposition.”

Jeongin snorts, setting the metal on the anvil and hammering it twice, the sharp clang making Seungmin flinch before recovering his composure. “Sharp,” he says, glancing over his shoulder, “but not wrong.”

“That makes you predictable, then,” Seungmin says, stepping closer until he’s well within the jeweler’s personal space. “I do love a man I can read.” Jeongin laughs under his breath. “Careful, prince. You may not like what you read in me.”

“I doubt that,” Seungmin replies, voice softer now—dangerously so. He is too close, leaning just enough to catch the flicker of the fire reflecting in Jeongin’s eyes. The jeweler hums, going back to his work, but the corner of his mouth quirks upward. “Your kind of trouble wears lace and perfume. Mine burns hotter.”

Seungmin drags a finger across the workbench, leaving a streak in the ash. “Then it is a good thing I have always liked playing with fire.”

Jeongin pauses mid-strike, hammer resting loosely in his hand. For a moment, only the crackle of the forge fills the silence between them. Then, he laughs, setting the hammer down as he turns fully toward Seungmin, standing to walk closer to the omega, who does not move though he knows the other needs to get to the tongs on the table that is past him.

Seungmin is deliberately standing too close, in the wrong place, with his fancy cinched suit getting dirt on it, and his pretty polished shoes collecting dirt from the ash covered floor. Jeongin tilts his head at the omega, who does not budge, because he knows the other could move him if he really wanted to. That he will, cause he does.

“You are in my way, princey boy. I have got things to do.” Jeongin stops his movements, standing right in front of Seungmin, smile playing at his lips cause he knows Seungmin and he knows Seungmin’s game.

The maybe 2 inches that Seungmin has on him does little to hinder the excitement spinning in the omega’s gut, Jeongin’s presence and gaze making his head foggy and his legs weak.

“Little old me? I am sure you can work around it, dear old friend.” he baits.

Jeongin laughs, soft and simple, those world quaking eyes on him like he is all that matters. Seungmin loves it, it creates a blaze of need in him that only grows as the moments tick past.

“Blocking the path and hindering my work, without a doubt you are an inconvenience." Jeongin backs him against the nearest surface, his hands rough, large, and sure as they find Seungmin’s waist. In one effortless motion, he lifts him, setting him atop a cleared patch of the worktable as though he weighs nothing. The omega’s breath catches—somewhere between a laugh and a gasp—as the jeweler steps away again, the moment already gone, leaving only the echo of his touch and the burn it leaves behind.

Seungmin swings his legs idly, trying to appear unbothered, though his heart hammers against his ribs like it’s desperate to escape. “You are so cruel, Innie,” he says softly, his tone feather-light but trembling at the edges. “You lift a prince, only to abandon him for his own jewelry.”

Jeongin glances back at him, lips twitching. “You have a habit of wandering into my work, my prince. I cannot help it if you are in the way of my hands.” The omega scoffs, crossing one leg over the other and swinging his ankle in practiced irritation. “You are insufferable.”

“Mm,” Jeongin hums, voice low, distracted, “and you are still here.” That earns him a small, delighted grin. Seungmin leans back on his palms, eyes tracing the lines of Jeongin’s shoulders as he bends again over the furnace. “Maybe I simply enjoy your company.”

“Or maybe,” Jeongin says, setting down his tool, “you have come to use your charm to get something out of me. You only ever look that sweet when you want something.”
Caught, Seungmin laughs softly, a sound genuine enough to make the jeweler glance his way. “You wound me, Innie.”

“Not yet,” Jeongin mutters, half under his breath. Seungmin grins wider, pulling a delicate folded paper from his coat pocket and holding it with long, delicate fingers. “Then perhaps I should give you this before you do.”

Jeongin arches a brow, wiping his hands before taking it. His name is written across the front in Seungmin’s careful script. “A letter? You shit. You have come all this way for correspondence?” “An invitation,” Seungmin corrects in a laugh, tone smooth, but his eyes gleam. “To the ball. I expect you there, of course.”

The jeweler snorts, tucking the paper into his apron. “And what would I do at a noble’s ball? Smudge soot on the walls? Need I remind you of what I have come here to escape from, Minnie?”

The informality jogs a memory of Seungmin’s from long ago.

Jeongin had been starving, working himself ragged, a mysterious, scrawny child he had been when they met. Before he was all muscle and shy charisma, when he had run away from his life of nobility to make an honest living, but the streets of their kingdom were still in development, giving him nowhere to go, and nowhere to start.

Seungmin tilts his head, studying him, a feeling of pride forming at the man Jeongin has become today, when the world was so unkind before. “Perhaps. Or perhaps you will stand there, and everyone will wonder how I managed to make you come.”

Jeongin scoffs, and then, slowly, that devastating smirk returns. “Ah,” he says softly. “So that is your mischief.”

Seungmin’s gaze flicks to those hands—calloused, scarred, steady. He swallows once, then dares to speak through a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Then perhaps,” he says, voice sweet but low, “you might find something better to do with those strong arms of yours someday. Something… more lasting.”

Jeongin slows mid-step, the weight of the suggestion sinking in like a spark to tinder. His eyes meet Seungmin’s across the glow of the forge, and for a long, breathless moment, neither speaks. The only sound is the crackle of fire, the faint hiss of cooling metal.

Then Jeongin exhales through his nose and shakes his head, that teasing smirk returning to soften the tension. “You say things like that, prince, and it is a wonder your ball is not already chaos.”

“Oh, I do hope it will be,” Seungmin hums, his grin returning, eyes bright with mischief. “After all, I intend to make it unforgettable.” Jeongin huffs a laugh. “For your suitors, maybe.”

“For whoever’s brave enough to ask, and those brave enough to become a suitor. And it is not only for nobles, the whole kingdom is invited. I am not one that enjoys segregation based on status or title, you know that though.” Seungmin says quietly, a challenge tucked beneath the sweetness. And Jeongin—oh, he hears it. He simply does not take the bait. Not yet.

Instead, he wipes his hands on a rag and turns toward him with a sigh that’s more fond than he means it to be. “All right, princey boy. Time is up. Out with you before I lose the afternoon’s light.” Seungmin’s nose skrunkles. “Once again. You wound me.”

Jeongin smiles, all charm and effortless seduction, one brow raised. “You will live.”
Then, with that same unthinking ease, he slides his hands around Seungmin’s waist again—his touch sure, practiced, almost intimate—and lifts him down from the table. The omega’s hands find his shoulders without thought, balance instinctive, lingering perhaps a moment too long.

When his boots touch the floor, Seungmin does not step back immediately. “You did not even give me an answer to my invite.” jutting his lips out in a pout. “I have a lot to do, you spoiled prince.” Jeongin insists, voice low enough to make Seungmin’s pulse skip. “I will think about it.”

“Think about—?” But before Seungmin can finish, Jeongin is already guiding him toward the door, large hands still resting lightly at his middle. They step into the daylight. Angwi looks up from her seat in the carriage, grinning like she has been expecting this exact outcome. “Took your sweet time, didn’t you, ma prince?”

Seungmin cannot help but laugh, cheeks flushed and smile radiant. “I was merely—inspecting craftsmanship.” the bondmaid giggles, soft and sweet. “Uh-huh,” she says, voice dripping with amusement as she gives the jeweler a hungry once over. “Look like fine work to me.”

Jeongin’s shy laugh hums low as he leans against the doorframe. “Off with you two, before you get me into trouble, and your mother decides to have my head.” The prince only laughs “Yes, yes,” he pouts, already climbing into the carriage. “But do not think I will forget our discussion, Innie.”
“I would be disappointed if you did,” Jeongin replies, voice softer than before.

The door shuts. The carriage begins to roll, and Seungmin simply cannot help but glance back through the window—watching as Jeongin stands there, framed by the warm glow of his forge, a faint smile still playing at his lips.

Notes:

Are you ready?

Chapter 7: A Night To Remember, Part 1

Notes:

IT'S HEREEEEEEEEEEEEE. OMG. PART ONE

Maybe I'm more excited than y'all about this but shit, do you know how much effort I had to put in to finish such a cinematic chapter??? My adhd NERFS THE FUCK OUT OF ME every time I have to write big events and it's suddenly like I'm getting cracked by procrastination every night like a witch ritual bitch. Be grateful!

Happy reading, and more importantly, happy thanksgiving!

OH, and I’m so sorry the mood board low-key sucks. I don’t know what to say about that lol. I’m tired, my autism and adhd are really like stabbing me repeatedly tonight.

BUT, on the bright side, I have taken to committing whole boards to my mood boards for each fic, so you get even broader aesthetics for every story, including Dauntless!! Yayyy! I hope you enjoy this chapter, I really do. Now, I’ll shut up. 🎀

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Full Mood Board💍

Chp 7 Mood Board🥀

Seungmin’s morning begins in violence.

First, the chamber curtains are ripped open. Then the canopy curtains part with even greater offense, flooding his bed in merciless daylight.

“Ugh, Angwi. The sun has barely risen. Go away. I am going to bite you.”
He groans, rolling deeper into the sheets and dragging a pillow over his face.

“Well, dear nephew, the brightest star in the sky does begin the day. But if you do not wish to shine the brightest… perhaps your debut should be cancelled.”

Seungmin shoots upright the instant he hears a voice that isn’t Angwi’s New Orleans drawl.

Queen Raveena stands at the edge of his bed, hands folded gracefully, one eyebrow raised in unimpressed judgment.

“Auntie,” he blurts, suddenly very awake despite his sleep-ruffled state. “Good morning.”

She is in her own morning attire—robes of slumber whispering across the marble floor, hair somehow perfectly sleek despite having just risen. Not at all like Seungmin’s, which sticks up in defiance of dignity and gravity.

“Rise and shine, my sweet nephew,” she says, smiling with that mix of fondness and challenge that only she can manage. “This is the day you enter society. And the sun waits for no one, so you must rise with it.”

A spark of excitement twinges in Seungmin’s chest as Raveena sweeps around the oversized mattress. Angwi hands her a robe, and the queen holds it open expectantly. Seungmin swings his legs to the floor and slips his arms inside the fabric. Morning chill vanishes as she ties it closed and combs her fingers through his unruly hair.

“We have much to do,” she murmurs. “Prepare yourself. I hope you slept well, for today will test your patience, your resolve, and your heart. You are an adult now—and of the royal family—so you must begin conditioning yourself as such.”

She cups his face, presses a kiss to his forehead… then spins on her heel, already striding toward the door, unconcerned that they’re both barefoot and wrapped in robes.

“Come! You will approve the results of your decisions while Angwi draws your bath. Do keep up.”

Seungmin pads after her, glancing back long enough to catch Angwi—adorable in a frilly pink gown—winking at him over the steaming tub. He returns the smile before hurrying to follow the queen.

The halls of the palace are already alive, filled with the chaotic hum of servants and the rhythmic patter of shoes against polished marble. Morning light filters through tall windows, spilling over velvet drapes and gleaming gold fixtures.

Queen Raveena moves through it all with the grace of a storm, towering over everyone else — swift, deliberate, and untouchable. Seungmin trails right behind her, still rubbing his eyes, trying not to yawn.

“Eyes open, shoulders square,” she murmurs without looking back. “You are not a child anymore, and today the kingdom will see it.” Seungmin inhales and exhales promptly, she is right, Seungmin is out today, and if his events have to be perfect, he needs to take control.
“Yes, Auntie.”

They turn down the grand corridor where florists arrange towering vases of white orchids and plum roses. The air smells sweet, dizzying. “Are those the arrangements we approved?” she asks briskly, pointing with one slender finger. A servant smiles, bows deeply, nodding. “Yes, Your Majesty. They were picked fresh from the southern gardens just this morning!”

“Good. They must last until dawn tomorrow. Do refresh the water at dusk, no later.” She does not wait for a reply before moving on. Seungmin watches her sweep from one end of the castle to the next, issuing orders with the ease of breathing. He half-admires, half-fears her precision.

“You seem tense, my dear,” she remarks suddenly, eyes forward.
“I am fine,” he tries, though his mind is the slightest bit troubled. “Fine?” she repeats, stopping just long enough for him to nearly bump into her. “Fine is the word one uses when they are one heartbeat away from disaster. Do try again.”

“I am—” He exhales, considering for a moment. “Nervous. But I am ready.”

She nods one firm time. “Better.” She resumes walking, her tone softening a fraction. “A royal who cannot name his own fear cannot rule it, Seungmin. Remember that. Your emotions make you stronger, not weaker. Use them at will. A good ruler thinks with both their head and their heart.”

They descend into the ballroom next, where servants polish crystal chandeliers and musicians test instruments near the stage. The sight nearly steals Seungmin’s breath — golds, creams, and candlelight waiting to come alive.

“‘Tis.. beautiful,” he murmurs, dazzled. Raveena’s expression warms just slightly. “It is,” she agrees. “And soon it will be yours to host, to dazzle, and to endure.” Seungmin looks up at her, curious. “Endure?” he questions, blinking a few perplexed times.

Raveena gives him a look, one lifted eyebrow raised, making the prince feel naive for asking. “My darling, every debut is half spectacle, half battlefield.” She rests a hand on his shoulder, firm but fond. “You will dance, smile, and charm them all — even the ones who come to watch you fail.”

A servant rushes forward with a clipboard, bowing. “Your Majesty’s, the kitchen requests confirmation for the evening menu.” Raveena peers at Seungmin, who picks it up without further signal. “Tell them to reduce the saffron, and the tarts must be smaller,” he says immediately, the woman tagging on the tail of his word. “Yes. My nephew will not have guests leaving drunk on sugar before the courting hour.”

“Yes, Your Majesty’s.” As the servant hurries off, Seungmin speaks again, “They will be drunk on something else entirely.” Raveena doesn’t miss a step. “Then perhaps they will remember you fondly in the morning.”

He bites back a laugh. “You really do not make this easier, auntie.”

She smiles, just a bit. Something mischievous in her royal grin that makes Seungmin believe sometimes that maybe he isn’t adopted. “I am not meant to, darling.” Her eyes glint. “I am meant to make you ready.”

They move through the corridors with quiet elegance, the Queen’s robes whispering against the marble, Seungmin a step behind her but not slouched as before. He listens, like always — truly listens — to the way she speaks, the tone she commands, the certainty with which she expects the palace to move.

“You must not simply be seen, my dear,” Raveena says as they pass a pair of maids arranging glass lanterns. “You must be felt. That is the difference between a ruler and a naive fool who simply sits on the throne. Tell me, what do you see wrong here?”

Seungmin pauses, scanning the line of lanterns. “The rightmost one leans too close to the drapery. If it catches fire, the rest will follow. It should be moved three feet inward.” Raveena hides a smile. “You are learning well. But you must not forget, speak with precision, and others will learn to listen.”

They continue into the ballroom, where a small commotion draws their attention. A cluster of musicians argue near the dais — and at the center stands Jisung, sleeves rolled up, gestures sharp but not cruel while Seungmin tries not to malfunction at the sight of his forearms. His voice cuts through the chatter, low but clear.

“I have conducted orchestras twice– triple this size! Sir. And I assure you—”
The violinist interrupts, sneering. “And yet you are still but a beta. Do not think to school me on tempo or tone.”
The insult hangs in the air like smoke. Servants nearby stop moving. Before Raveena can speak, Seungmin steps forward. His robe flares slightly with the movement, morning light glancing off the pearl threading.

“That is enough,” he says, and though his tone is delicate, it carries through the hall like a bell. “You will not speak to Maestro Han, or any group of people in such a manner beneath these chandeliers.” The man blanches. “Your Highness, I meant no disres—”

“Then un-mean it properly,” Seungmin replies. “By apologizing, and shutting up so you can do what you were asked. Do you believe yourself above Master Han because you are an alpha? If that is so, you believe yourself above me and the kingdoms mothers, because we are omegas?” he hums.

The musician seems to have stopped breathing at that, nothing to say in response. Seungmin gives a simple, kind smile. “I did not think so. Do shut up, and make sure to be less subcist in the future, you are not above anyone else just because you are an alpha, you would do best to remember that. If you cannot, you are not and will never be welcome in this kingdom. Do I make myself clear?”

The musician bows his head, mumbling an apology. Jisung stands very still, watching, something unreadable flickering across his face. Seungmin turns to him, expression easing as he attempts to will his eyes away from the muscles peeking out of his rolled up sleeves. “Continue, Maestro.” he says, swallowing.

Jisung inclines his head. “Of course, thank you, my prince.” As Seungmin begins to move away, Jisung descends from the dais, stopping just short of him and Queen Raveena. He bows deeply before her first.

“Your Majesty.” he greets.

“Maestro Han.” she acknowledges.

Then his gaze turns left, to Seungmin. His smile is big, sincere — and before he can be stopped, he steps forward, catching Seungmin’s hand, brushing his lips over back of his palm once, twice, three times, brief kisses of gratitude that send a strange warmth through the omegas chest.

“My thanks, Your Highness,” he murmurs. “You make even morning robes seem regal. Eh– both of you, of course. Thank you for allowing me in your home.”
Raveena arches a brow, amused; but Seungmin only offers a small smile, one polite enough to conceal the way his heart stirs.

“Get back to work, Maestro, before you find another musician to duel.” he says simply, Jisung gives a smile that can only be described as dorky, and kind. “Yes, my prince.”

When Jisung returns to his place, Raveena waits until they are several steps away before speaking, her tone laced with quiet pride. “Well handled,” she says. “Swift, calm, and just the right edge of command. You have a temper, fire Seungmin — but if you learn to wield it as you just did, you will never need to raise your voice.”

“Thank you, Auntie,” he answers, straightening slightly. “And as for the Maestro…” Her lips curve in faint mischief. “You seem to have quite the admirer. Do you plan to let him kiss every inch of your virgin body before the ball even begins?”

Seungmin flushes despite himself. “It was only gratitude, Auntie.”

“Gratitude rarely lingers like that,” she tuts, amused. “But I suppose your heart will tell you which glances to return, and which to ignore. For now, let us ensure your night of charm does not fall apart before it begins.”

She sweeps forward again, and Seungmin follows, head high this time, steps steady — not because he is unbothered, but because something inside him knows she is watching, testing, and finding him worthy.

Seungmin makes his way back upstairs not long after they have finished confirming final details and checking on day-of preparations. When he returns to his chambers, Angwi is stirring rose petals into his water, the space smelling of vanilla and lavender, making Seungmin anticipate his bath with brewing excitement. He loves lavender.

He strides closer after clicking the door closed, wasting no time dropping his clothes and climbing into the tub without a moment's hesitation. Angwi giggles as she picks up his robes, handing them off to a maid waiting outside the door.

“Do take your time, ma prince, you have a long day ahead of ya.” Angwi hums, exiting the room and leaving Seungmin to soak for a bit while she handles early morning tasks.

“Alright, prince Seungmin. Just a quick rundown of things. You have one outfit change planned, today during the ball. It is to take place after your debut dance with–”
“Master Minho.” Seungmin fills in as Angwi ties the strings on the white dress she had picked for him, a casual delicacy, something simple and loose with flowing sleeves. Maximum movement and easily removable for when it is time to change later in the evening.

“Yes, your gowns are ready for you when it is time tonight, your hand and hair accessories are chosen but you still have yet to choose neck jewelry for either of your outfits, my prince. And if you have chosen them, we will need them so they can be sat aside with your gowns.”

Jeongin, dammit. Seungmin thinks, he had neglected to send anyone to pick up his mothers necklaces from him that morning. It is a good thing it was mentioned. “Yes, there is a diamond necklace and a ruby necklace in town under the care of Yang Jeongin, I will need someone to send word to have it delivered.” he tells the beta servant.

“Yes my prince, and you need to taste test the appetizer pastries, there was a complication in the kitchen this morning, and one of the newer castle staff was causing trouble with the hired baker from the north town, do you want—”

“I am on my way there now.” he assures, as soon as Angwi got the white flower she was holding placed securely behind his ear, taking off through the castle halls with an urgency in his step. There is only one hired baker for the evening, and he was in charge of all the catering for Seungmin’s ball.

So who of his family’s staff dare cause a scene with Seungmin’s dear friend, all while he was present? That just will not do. Felix has always been protective of him, Seungmin would be a fool to not reciprocate the need to protect on the other omegas account.

He greets rushing staff as he passes them into the halls, all busy with same day checks and details. Even so, his face is set heavy with irritation even before he enters the kitchen, the mere thought of someone giving sweet, honey smelling Felix a hard time pissing him off to no end. ‘Tis absurd.

Seungmin’s shoes clicked against the polished marble as he made his way toward the kitchens, purpose in every stride. The hum of activity grew louder with each step, the clatter of pots, the sizzle of butter on pans, and the low murmur of cooks debating over final preparations. A prickle of irritation traced along his spine before it melted into determination. No one dared treat Felix poorly in his presence.

As he rounded the corner, his eyes immediately found the source of the commotion. Felix, head bent over a tray of delicate tarts, was being berated by the same young servant who had caused Angwi trouble weeks prior. His voice rose, sharp and accusatory, each word dripping with disdain.

“I do believe you are out of line here, sir. The prince has made his wishes clear, you need not question his highness.”
“You are the one out of line, who do you think you are? I am making the appetizers so they will be made how I see fit.” A familiar voice quips back at Felix, pushy, insistent. It irritates the omega.

“You think you know better than me, though you are but a-…” The man faltered, eyes flicking to Seungmin when he entered, yet the venom did not fully retreat. “No, do not stop on my behalf, sir. Do continue.” he muses, hands folded in front of him.

He does not, he only gapes at Seungmin like a fish of some sort. Seungmin’s brow arched, his robe brushing against the floor, and his voice cut through the kitchen like a bell. “Enough of this then, this is the second time you have disobeyed direct orders from the crown. We are family here, sir. We do not make things harder for those around us, and we certainly do not tolerate discrimination.”

Felix smiles, relief relaxing his features. Seungmin stepped forward, chin lifted, gaze steady and unwavering. “Speak plainly. Do you quarrel with him over skill, procedure?” He gestured to Felix, who straightened, hands still lightly dusted with flour.

The servant hesitated, the mask of arrogance faltering. “I… I simply—”

“You simply what?” Seungmin’s tone was simple, but every word carried the weight of command. “I will have no prejudice within these walls. None. You dare challenge Felix, the head of our catering, because he is an omega? You dare question my bondmaid because she is one as well? How insolent, ignorance like this does not belong near the throne.”

The man stammered, unable to form a defense. Seungmin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Hear this clearly, you are dismissed. Leave this castle immediately, and do not set foot here again. You are lucky I do not have you exiled from this kingdom as a whole.”

The older man’s face paled, and without an immature, low growl of humiliation, he hurried from the kitchen, a mixture of fear and shame propelling him. Felix blinked, his usual composure giving way to a sure smile.

“Thank you, my pretty prince.” Maybe it is the compliment, the depth of the other omegas voice, or the way Felix takes his hand in his own, spinning him as he gives him a once over, but Seungmin’s smile grows significantly, the weight on his shoulder lessening. “I am so very grateful. You are glowing today, breathtaking.”

His laughter was soft, relieved, and it makes Seungmin feel like he is floating, just a bit. He shakes his head, cheeks faintly tinged, returning the smile with a tilt of his head. “Do not grow so bold, Felix. You still have work to attend to.”

“I shall,” Felix replied, straightening with a nod, though the corners of his mouth twitched with lingering amusement. “And thank you. Truly.” Seungmin inclined his head once, satisfied. He hums as Felix folds over into a deep bow, content with the show of respect. “Continue your duties, Lix. I shall see that all proceeds according to plan.”

As Felix bent back over the menu, humming quietly, Seungmin felt a lightness in his chest that had been absent all morning. The day still held its trials, its chaos, and its spectacles—but for this moment, order had been restored, and justice, however small, had been done.

He turned from the kitchen, shoulders squared, thoughts already moving to the next task. The palace awaited his command, and today, he would be ready.

“Alright na, ma prince. Bout’ time we move on, annit?” comes Angwi’s sweet voice from behind him. Suengmin smiles, nodding once at her as they make their way from the cooking word. As the night brings darkness, the chandeliers bring light, and people begin to arrive in their best attire for the prince’s grand introduction ball at the palace.

Seungmin feels the anticipation bubbling in his body, face hot as he is stripped of his casual dress and his first outfit of the evening is brought into the room by Angwi and Estella and a few other staff.

As the two are fussing over the gown—making sure they have all the pieces and accessories that will no doubt sparkle under the candlelight in the ballroom—Seungmin wanders outside onto his balcony.

The cool night air nips at his warm skin, his royal lavender robe drags behind him when he approaches the coping. It is happening, he thinks. After months of preparation, choosing colors and fabrics and plates, suffocating under the need to get everything right and iron out every possible kink.

His heart is troubled where it beats beneath his hand in his chest, making it harder to think straight without being worried that something is going to happen to ruin his debut, like an impending doom he cannot sense is to suddenly swoop in and ruin everyone's hard work and prep for the night. The fresh wind against his figure barely calms him.

Below — people arrive in large, intricate carriages, invites in hand as they step out onto the golden carpets. None of them particularly interest the omega, not when he and his family had gone over the guest list a million times, reviewing who was to be present with careful method and consideration.

Royalty, nobles, towns people, important folk from kingdoms near and far, everyone with respectable history and prospects from all over were to be there, dazzling the hall with foreign and perspective stories in the palace castle.

Still, maybe hundreds can be spotted below as the seconds pass, but only one carriage in particular got his attention. Maybe he shouldn't be able to spot him from so far, but that is all but relevant when Seungmin’s troubled heart is filled suddenly with affection.

Seungmin’s eyes lock on the figure stepping lightly from the carriage, shoulders relaxed, posture effortless, yet somehow commanding in a way that makes his chest tighten. Minho.

It should have been impossible. The distance, the crowd, the fluttering lanterns obscuring faces. And yet, there he was. Their eyes find each other immediately, and in that split second, the world below seems to quiet. The only thing Seungmin notices is that smile—a private curve of lips that makes something stir deep in his chest, a warmth and ache all at once.

Minho tilts his head ever so slightly, just enough for Seungmin to see it, a fleeting softness in the middle of his otherwise poised and composed expression. It is a signal, a recognition, a quiet letting-down of guard for Seungmin alone. And Seungmin melts right there, gripping the balcony railing as if it is the only thing keeping him upright.

The cool night air brushes against him, but it does nothing to chase away the heat in his chest, the rush of adrenaline, the sudden, almost unbearable delight of seeing Minho. For a long moment, he simply watches, utterly captivated.

“Your Highness,” Angwi calls from inside, breaking through his reverie. “Come along na! The gown awaits, and you over there dawdling, the moon is up, the light don’t wait for nobody sugar!” it brings back the queens words, maybe in the moment he needed it the moment.

“The brightest star in the sky does start the day. But if you do not wish to shine the brightest, maybe your debut should be cancelled. You will dance, smile, and charm them all — even the ones who come to watch you fail. You must not simply be seen, you must be felt. That is the difference between a ruler and a fool who simply sits on top of a thrown.

Seungmin blinks, shakes his head slightly, as if clearing away the spell, and gives one last longing glance to the figure below. The private, unspoken understanding between them lingers in the air, grounding him, filling him with a quiet confidence.

“Coming, Angwi,” he hums, voice steady now, though his heartbeat betrays him.

He steps back inside, the lavender robe brushing softly against the floor, and allows Estella and the other staff to help him into the first gown of the evening. Every touch, every adjustment, feels charged, but he is no longer anxious. That fleeting connection on the balcony, that simple acknowledgment from Minho, has steadied him. He lets himself settle into the preparations, fully present, more than ready.

As Angwi fusses over the final adjustments, tucking in the folds and ensuring the accessories sparkle just so, Seungmin’s thoughts drift momentarily—not in distraction, but in anticipation. Tonight, the ball begins, and soon enough, he will be dancing. Soon enough, Minho will be near, and that smile, that impossible, devastating smile, will be his to see again.

There are jewels, silk, lace, corsets, glitter, diamonds, and so on. So much preparation for his first dance, his first entrance, his first night in society. He is prepped and prodded and tugged until his mothers enters the room, a sharp inhale pulling the attending and Seungmin’s attention to the door, where the two are standing in their own gowns.

Mother Lidia’s hair is down for a change, pinned back with silver and cream combs to compliment her white and silver dress.

Mother Tilly’s short, wavy hair is pinned back off of her delicate face, her eyes nearly sparking when she spots Seungmin from across the room.
“Oh, my pup.” she breathes, tears already in her eyes as she lets go of her wife's hand to stray closer.

“Mother, you are going to ruin your powder.” Seungmin teases as she rushes forth, hands out to take Seungmin’s as soon as she is close enough. “You are breathtaking, darling. Just breathtaking. Is he not just a darling, Lydia dear?” Tilly turns back as her wife approaches, smiling and nodding as she pulls a gorgeous diamond and sapphire necklace from a box she had been holding in her opposite hand.

“Indeed he is, my love.” She kisses Tilly’s cheek as she comes closer, turning her attention to Seungmin. “And my little love, you are going to eat the ton alive tonight.” she promises, hushed. Suengmin’s smiling like an idiot, his mothers affection and approval more than enough to make his heart hum happily.

He turns towards the mirror he had been standing in moments ago, though he has watched idly as his first look of the night came together, he is still astonished at his reflection, and the beauty it holds.

In the mirror is an omega, a lavender and purple sapphire gown pouring off of him in overwhelming layers, like waves from the greenest oceans you’ve ever seen. Diamonds are sewn into details of his lace corset, which cinches him till his middle is sinfully small, though he needs not a piece of materials help for that.

His gown is layered, large, lace, details that will undoubtedly cause talk amongst the kingdom, but so what? Let them talk.

Mother Lydia approaches from behind, minding his head as she brings the piece of jewelry down to decorate a delicate neck and collarbone, clasping it on carefully, the weight of it quickly making him more mindful of its presence, like he will with his people, when he enters the ballroom.

“Hello, gorgeous.” Angwi says from his right, where she stands and watches alongside Estella, who is quietly admiring their handiwork. Seungmin cannot help but agree with her.

“Dragon flames in your soul, and gold in your heart, our little fury flower.”

Seungmin inhales, deep and sharp, and exhales promptly after. Dragon, fire, fury.

“Tis time,” he announces at last, fingers brushing the cool metal of his jewelry like one might touch a charm before battle. The room stills. “We have a sea of people to knock dead,” he adds, a slow smile blooming despite himself. “Let us not keep them waiting.”

And with that, Seungmin gathers his courage, turns on his heel, and begins his descent toward the ballroom—every step echoing with the promise that tonight will change everything.

His heels click beneath his gown as he walks, the sound like a declaration of definition and war. The halls stretch before him like a mass gallery, pulsing with distant music and voices, the veins of the royal family filling the building like a promise of a curse. As if to say Seungmin is present, he is ready, and he is going to haunt any and every person who dared to step foot in that castle that evening. This is his night, his promise, his swear, his introduction into society.

Seungmin walks steadily, deliberately, each step a flutter in the stomachs of the staff who peek from behind columns and doorframes. His gown sweeps across the polished floors, a tide of lavender and sapphire that hushes every whisper it passes.

The necklace at his throat is warm already, as if absorbing the heat of his rising anticipation. Ahead, the towering ballroom doors tremble with the energy of the crowd beyond them, light spilling through the cracks like the promise of sunrise.

Angwi keeps pace at his right, her steps heavy, unmistakably audible, making her presence fierce as a shield. Staff peek from behind pillars, eyes widening as he passes—some clasping hands to their mouths, others whispering blessings under their breaths.

The orchestra swells faintly beyond the double doors ahead, the sound trembling through the marble floors. The scent of warm candlewax, polished wood, and hundreds of mingled perfumes reaches him in gentle waves. The closer he gets, the more the pressure tightens in his chest, anticipation and terror braided together.

Angwi leans close, whispering with a grin wicked as a sorcerer, accent thick as honey.
“Remember what Queen Raveena told ya, hm? You ain’t just to be seen, but to be felt. You here so they remember who the hell you are. Their omega prince, and one of these days, without a doubt in my mind… the first omegan king.”

Seungmin shivers in his gown.
The necklace at his throat sits heavy, solid, anchoring. A king, damn right he will be. He inhales once—slow, steady. Somewhere beyond the doors, the music shifts. A deliberate change of tempo, the official signal.

Angwi’s fingers brush his arm.
“Shine, na. Show ‘em why the moon is jealous of ya.”

The herald on the other side strikes his staff, and ballroom doors swing open.

Light floods the hallway, warm and golden, washing over Seungmin as the crowd inside collectively has their breath stolen as the sight of him, right from beneath their pearls and diamonds. The chandeliers catch every diamond sewn into his corset, scattering sparks of color across his gown and onto the polished floors. Conversations die, replaced by a thick, awe-struck silence.

Hundreds of eyes land on him as he descends the stairs—some greedy, some admiring, some calculating, some dazzled. But none can deny the truth.

He is breathtaking.

Even with the judging eyes, the heads with crowns and flowers decorating them, the lack of air within everyone he has caused, Seungmin sees none of them. Because Minho sees him first.

Across the ballroom, surrounded by a cluster of nobles vying for his attention, Minho’s gaze is directed toward the entrance like a magnet pulled taut. His body is still, attention unshakeable, and Seungmin’s posture is suddenly carved from shadow and tension. Even from across the room, the alphas' eyes burn with something raw and devastating.

A noble touches his sleeve, asking something. Minho does not even hear them. He pushes through the crowd—politely at first, then less so, shouldering past bodies with single-minded precision. Someone calls his name; he ignores it. Someone tries to bow; he steps around them.

Seungmin’s lips quirk into a trembling smile he cannot stop, and when Minho reaches him, his heart is alight with magic. For a moment, they simply stand there—two currents colliding in the entrance of the room, the air between them charged enough to fracture.

Seungmin extends his hand, palm downturned, and Minho takes it without hesitation.
The crowd parts in ripples, instinctively making space as the pair approaches, and Minho leads him toward the center of the ballroom. Their joined hands make a quiet, defiant declaration. No one speaks. No one dares interrupt the prince and the man moving as though the rest of the world has fallen away.

At the center, Seungmin’s heart rabbits wildly—not from the audience watching, but from Minho’s gaze. Devoted hunger. Adoration. Something primal and soft and dangerous, all wrapped into one look meant for him and him alone. Seungmin’s voice trembles with joy.
“My alpha, you came.” he speaks softly, almost teasing.

Minho steps closer, their fingers still intertwined. His voice drops low and cuts through the music like a vow. “Of course I came. As little as I like you, you are—and always will be—my responsibility, my omega.” He leans in, the hint of a smirk ghosting his lips.

“I would endure a lifetime of suffering if it meant one less hardship for you. Which is exactly why you are a pain in the ass.” Seungmin’s giggle escapes before he can stop it, bright and breathless and real. That’s his alpha.

The orchestra swells as Minho places one hand at his waist, the other still holding his, guiding him into the first dance of the night—of his debut, of everything to come. Minho gives Seungmin a rare, soft smile that melts the omega's heart, and they move with the weight and beauty of the oceanic tides.

The hum of the ballroom swells in their wake. People inhale sharply as Minho’s hand settles around Seungmin’s waist—bold, reverent, possessive in a way no one can mistake. Fans pause mid-flutter. Goblets freeze halfway to lips. Conversations die cleanly, sliced at the throat by the sheer force of the moment unfurling in front of them.

When they step into motion, it is as if the room exhales for the first time.

The crowd circles around them instinctively—no words spoken, no command issued, yet the ton moves as though guided by the moon’s pull. The nobles at the edges lean forward, the common folks transfixed; the guards exchange wide-eyed glances; courtiers press hands to their chests. The air grows thick, heavy with that strange, trembling magic found only in the rarest pairings: an omega stepping into his birthright, and an alpha who would raze the world for him. It is magic as much as it is command.

On the raised dais, Queen Raveena sits straighter in her throne, eyes softening with a pride so powerful it borders on reverence. Light from the chandelier crowns her, yet even she seems to glow at the sight below. Her lips part, breath catching—and for a heartbeat, even her pulse seems to sync with the rhythm of her nephews steps.

“My boy,” she murmurs to no one, fondness blooming warm across her face. “Look how he commands the room…”

Beside her, the princess’s exhale shakily, Tilly and Lidia’s hands intertwined, Tilly’s over her heart. “He is radiant. And the way Master Minho holds him…” A knowing, delighted smile curls Lidia’s lips. “The entire kingdom will feel this.”

Below, Seungmin and Minho move as if born for this music—no, as if the orchestra bends its tempo to them. The lavender sweep of Seungmin’s gown arcs through the candlelit air like a spell, Minho guiding him with the gentleness of a man handling something he considers sacred. Every pivot, every glide, every breath shared between them ripples outward: a sway of souls that reaches the farthest corner of the ballroom.

Some guests watch in awe, spellbound. Some watch with envy, unable to tear their eyes away.
Some watch with the grudging respect owed to power when it finally reveals itself. But all of them—every last one—feel the hex in their bones.

History is being made in front of them.

Queen Raveena and Princess Lidia exchange a look, soft and sharp all at once, the kind only family share when witnessing destiny finally take shape. And in the center of the ballroom, Seungmin laughs again—light, bright, helplessly smitten—as Minho spins him effortlessly beneath the stars of crystal and flame.

The kingdom watches. The royal family glows. The alphas glare or yearn or tremble. But only one gaze matters. Minho’s—devoted, hungry, adoring—never leaves him.

The music concludes, Minho spins Seungmin into one, final swirl, and as the violins give, he catches the omega's weight, firm and final, pressed against his body before applause from the crowd rip through the air. It floods over their ragged breaths at deafening volumes, and the two of them are so close to one another that it feels like their heartbeats sync.

“You are quite the divine dancer, Kim Seungmin. When you are not dragging your feet.”
Seungmin beams, sighing, pulse throbbing through his body in exhilaration, the lightning of their sway with Minho’s teasing making the omega feel so alive that it is overwhelming.

“Well, I learned from the best. I simply could not stand to disappoint him.”

The corridors vibrate with leftover electricity as Seungmin and Angwi walk—no, float—toward the royal bedchambers. Laughter rolls off their tongues in breathless bursts, excitement spilling between them like champagne foam. The first dance feels stitched into Seungmin’s bones, every inhale still tinged with Minho’s scent, every exhale still warm from the oceanic sway they moved with.

“He was looking at you like you was the last prayer he ever gon’ say,” Angwi gushes, fanning herself dramatically. Seungmin’s ears flush. “Was he? I thought I might faint.”
“You was glowing, na. Moonlight on legs.”

Their heels click in tandem, a rhythm of triumph echoing down the gilded hallway. Beyond them, nobles roam the palace in delighted swarms—admiring tapestries, swooning over florals, chattering about the dance, the prince, the alpha who crossed the room like a storm. The air is warm. Beautiful. Alive.

In that alive, thunderous moment, they turn the corner so that Seungmin may be changed into his final gown of the evening, and everything good freezes to a halt when they make it into the leading hallway.

A tight cluster of staff—their staff, the ones who traveled with the royal family—stood gathered outside Seungmin’s chamber door. Some clutch their aprons. Some shake. A few are crying silently, hands over their mouths. Their faces are pale with shock, horror, disbelief.

The moment Seungmin appears, the group stiffens, Angwi’s instincts kick like a blade. Seungmin’s pulse begins to skid painfully, dread blooming cold across the back of his neck.

He pushes into the room—

—and the world slams to a halt.

Estella is on the floor, dressmaker’s apron soaked with tears, her trembling hands pressed against her mouth. She hiccups between sobs, shoulders shaking violently. Around her…

Is ruin.

Seungmin’s final outfit—the masterpiece meant to carry him through the rest of the evening—is everywhere. Shredded. Torn into strips. The embroidery ripped apart. Fabric slashed. Jewels scattered like broken teeth. Parts of the gown look trampled. Some sections have been purposefully stained—ink spilled, wine splashed, threads yanked until they snapped.

A massacre. A deliberate one.

For a moment, there is no breath in Seungmin’s lungs. The room tilts, heat rushing out of his body all at once.

Angwi’s roar shatters the silence. “WHAT in the world??”
The room looks like someone murdered a piece of art. “What—” Seungmin steps forward, breath collapsing. “What is the meaning of this? Who did this?!” No one answers. No one even can. They are all terrified.

Angwi’s eyes flash, sharp and vicious. She crouches to Estella, hands firm on her shoulders. “Breathe. Tell us what happened.” Estella can’t. She just shakes, choking on her sobs, motioning helplessly at the destruction like the proof is enough.

“Estella, sugar.” Angwi holds her by her shoulders. “You ain’t given’ up on us tonight. We gots shit to do, as much as I respect you, you need to spit it out.” the woman says, her gaze, her hold, unwavering.

I tried—I came back to fix the last stitch—” She cannot continue. She crumples forward, palms over her face. “I did not even hear him come in—” the woman pushes her fiery hair out of her face, a stream of scarlet too dark to be her locks streamed down the side of her head.

Seungmin & Angwi freeze. She is injured.

Angwi checks her eyes and head, the other woman tenses when she finds a spot of impact, Angwi hushes a whisper, grounding her. “Look at me. It’s all right, it ain’t that bad na. Tell me exactly what happened.”

The staff hover at the doorway, some wringing their aprons, one older maid clutching her rosary, murmuring prayers under her breath. “I—I was just checking the hem,” Estella whispers, voice a chipped thing. “And then he grabbed me—pushed me down. I tried to stand but he—he—swung something at me and knocked me out.” she pointed towards Seungmin’s bed, where a golden candle holder sits on the foot of it, likely the trauma weapon.

Her breathing stumbles. Angwi’s thumbs smooth gentle circles against her arms. “You are safe now. Speak slowly.”

“He did not say anything,” she chokes out. “He did not have to. I knew—knew he was not supposed to be there. He was dressed in kitchen staff attire. He had only been here a few weeks. Mr.Dulan. —” Her voice breaks entirely, it dawns on Angwi and Seungmin then just how intentional this all had been. The alpha from the kitchen who caused Angwi and Felix trouble, and had been fired that morning.

He was still in the castle.

“I could not stop him. He ruined everything. All our hard work, he ruined it!”

The silence afterward is suffocating. Seungmin steps forward, slowly, as though approaching a crime scene. The gown was supposed to be his final entrance. The crescendo of the night.
Estella and Angwi had poured themselves into it. His mothers had blessed it.
And now it lies gutted, as though someone wanted to wound more than fabric.

Someone wanted to wound him.

He bends down, fingers trembling as he lifts a shredded piece of embroidered silk. He stares at it for a long moment, heart pounding in his throat.

The music of the ballroom still hums through the halls—laughter, applause, the bubbling thrill of a night still in full swing—but inside this room, that joy feels alien. Cruel. Angwi rises to her feet, expression hardening into something sharp, lethal. She turns to the staff. “Who saw him? Did anyone see this man near these quarters?”

“We—” a young butler stammers. “We didn’t notice anyone from the outside. We thought—maybe he was part of the palace staff—”

“Palace staff yes, Bondmaid Bluu.” one of the footman says, stepping forward. “But I do recall it was someone at which you encountered before, outside of the castle some weeks ago.”
Anwi nods, redirecting her gaze to Seungmin where he stands stunned nearby.

“So it is so,” he starts. “Mr.Dulan, the subcist bastard from the kitchen this mornin’, he got some nerve.” Angwi finished.

“I saw him too. I wanted to report him, but he was not doing anything wrong.” one of the maids adds, voice shaking. “He was… wrong. The way he moved. He was not supposed to be here. It was quite unsettling.”

Whispers ripple through the gathered workers—fearful, bewildered, angry. Angwi lifts her chin. Authority radiates from her like heat. “All of you. Compose yourselves. We ain’t got time for this na.” She recovers first. Her shock calcifies into something sharp, blazing, dangerous.
“Everyone inside. Now.”

Her voice is a whip crack.
The staff jump; no one hesitates. Bodies funnel into the room in a rush of skirts and boots, and Angwi slams the doors shut behind them.

“Keep quiet,” she orders, low and lethal. “Not a word leaves this room. Tonight ain’t to be ruined. Someone tryna sabotage our prince, tryna reign hell on this night we all bled for—well, not on my watch.”

Seungmin, frozen in the center of shredded silk and spilled wine, turns toward her slowly—until his eyes find the one person he needs most.

“Angwi.”

Her voice softens, but the steel beneath it remains. “No one in this household will shrink tonight. Not after everything we done built.” The staff straighten, pulling in breaths, nodding despite tears. They trust her. They trust Seungmin.

Finally, Angwi turns to him. Determination gathers warm and steady in her hazel eyes — a quiet, unwavering respect earned only through surviving the same storm together, day after day.
“Yes?” she says softly, stepping forward with her hands folded in a posture that is not subservience, but allegiance.

“That gown you were making,” he begins.

The words rise slowly, thick in his throat. They feel revealing in a way nothing else ever has. His chest tightens around them, because he knows — with painful clarity — what this decision could cost him.

Seungmin has always danced on the edge of propriety.
The gowns too delicate, the tongue too sharp, the suitors too scandalous.
The maid he elevated when he was meant to turn away.
The trouble he stirs like it’s a natural element, born in his bones.

He has never been the kind of prince this kingdom wanted.
But he has always been the prince it could not ignore.

And yet tonight, what he intends is more than defiance. It is a declaration.

Male omegas are not to wear white.
They are not to drown themselves in sweeping skirts.
They are not to escort someone beneath their station.

But Seungmin has never walked in the skin they assigned him.
He wears femininity as if it is power,
rebellion as if it is silk,
and truth as if it is a crown long denied.

For a moment — just one — even he hesitates.
Not out of fear, but because he feels the gravity of it.
The way the room holds its breath.
The way history itself seems to pause, waiting to see whether he will step forward or step back. The night outside hums in anticipation. And with it, the path he is about to claim. Despite his disobedient, hard headed nature, he hesitates.

They stand for a moment, the words caught in Seungmin’s throat, and for the first time, raw fear creeps into his urges. Angwi reads his hesitation. She steps forward, takes his hands in her own without fear, lets her scent—warm, grounding, forbidden—bloom around him.

Gasps ripple from the staff.

Omegas are not to be scented by anyone outside their family before marriage — least of all by staff. In some cities, it is considered outright corruption; in others, merely a breach of decorum. Either way, the rule is ironclad. It is simply not done.

The staff in the room go rigid, their own scents flickering with anxiety, tension tightening the air like a pulled thread. And yet, despite the weight of every unspoken law pressing down on her, Angwi proceeds.

Seungmin’s anxiety eases, his grounding grip on the women's hands slipping just a bit, but Angwi holds on. An assured smile on her face as she speaks again, deadly serious in her next words. “I’ve got you, sugar. Whateva you need. Say it.” It's inspiring to speak the least of it. Seungmin’s will surges through him like a fire, rejuvenating and setting his hesitance up in flames.

“The grand gown you were designing,” he says again, this time with purpose. “The one I told you to bring to life.” Angwi nods, grip firm on his hands.“I need it. And I need it tonight.” Angwi pulls in a breath, but the fight and determination in her honey eyes does not waver, she simply nods, rubbing her thumbs on the backs of Seungmin’s palms.

“That gown is tailored for a woman, ma prince. Its corset is tiny, that of an omegan female. The train drags at a length akin to female royalty, it is all lace and cream and This scandal alone has the potential to ruin you, for good this time. Are you sure?” Seungmin nods, once firm, unshaken.

‘Tis not hesitance that holds her — only the weight of security, of wanting him to understand exactly what he is stepping into, and where this choice might lead them both.

“Will you stand with me?” Seungmin asks. Angwi does not even blink. “Always, ma prince.” He breathes out, a small, trembling smile breaking across his lips.

“Seungmin,” she murmurs, her hands closing around his, warm and steady, “are you willin’ to trade comfort and safety for a chance at somethin’ greater?” This time, he doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. Especially if you come with me. I would walk through fire at your side, if it meant we might find gold on the other end.”

Another slow breath leaves him as he tightens his hold on her palms, grounding himself in her certainty. And just like that, the decision settles between them — quiet, resolute, unshakeable. Angwi turns on her heel with the force of a gathering storm. The entire staff flinches as her gaze sweeps over them like a warning bell.

“Ladies and gentleman.” She starts, there is a fiery look of rebellion on her face, and it sparks something in Seungmin’s own motivation. “The Kim-Suu house has treated y’all as the capable humans you are despite your inability to keep ya traps shut and focus on yo work. Now is the time to pay them back.”

“Tonight will be enough juice and drama for the jaws of the ton to feed on for the rest of the year. But our prince needs us tonight. With him, we are going to break a lot of rules. If you feel you ain’t up to the task, get to steppin. We ‘on need or want you here if your loyalty don’t lay with us tonight.”

For a lovely 10 seconds, Angwi generously gives the room a moment to murmur, to scram, to clear the space and walk away. But nobody moves, nobody speaks. Seungmin’s heart rabbits in his chest at the show of authority and loyalty filling the space, the determination on the faces of the people who maintain his home and his lifestyle, moving his heart with the weight of the gods.

“Alright then, I hope you all mean it, because we’s gone cause quite the spectacle tonight.” A chorus of agreement comes from the group of people, Seungmin’s heart almost eats him alive, it is so full, cause tonight, more than ever, it is apparent how much his authority, his kindness, his mindfulness towards his people, has paid off.

“My omegan maids, fetch the dress from the extra room in the servants quarters at the estate. Any means necessary, get it here within the hour. A grand, cream colored ball gown.” the staff quickly begin moving as their identification is called, the determination of their faces is more than enough to move Seungmin to tears.

“Beta women, downstairs into the ballroom, stall the audience, gossip, bring out more appetizers and alcohol, get them drunk, make ‘em forget, leave the recollection of they attention later for our prince. Alpha women, you gon’ help me dress the prince, fetch his jewelry, adjust his makeup to make it accustomed to his dress. My men, all subgenders, help. Afford assistance anywhere it needs to be given. I want every field to be flawless, also alarm the family of what has happened. And only the family! Hear na? We gon’ prevail tonight and we will wreck the ton. No matter tha sabotage. Off with you all! Get to work!”

The room erupts into chaos, staff flooding out, Seungmin’s underground family moves with a purpose. Finally, Angwi looks to him. Seungmin stands amid the ruins of his gown, posture stiff and trembling but eyes steady. His pulse thunders, but there is no fragility in him now—just fury cooling into clarity.

He inhales once. Then he looks at her, voice low, each word balanced like a blade.

“Angwi,” he says. “Find him.” He lifts the ruined silk in his hand, letting it fall to the floor like a final verdict. “And make him regret ever stepping foot in this castle.”

Angwi does not storm out of the prince’s chambers—she floods from them.

She moves like a blade through silk, sharp and cutting, weaving down the corridor before the doors have even fully closed behind her. The castle is alive now: music swelling in the ballroom far below, the rumble of nobles gossiping in the reception halls, laughter spilling from guests drunk on champagne and spectacle.

She slips past them all like smoke in the wind, toxic, deadly. Two ladies fan themselves dramatically as she passes, their voices bright with gossip. “I heard the prince will shock everyone tonight—”
“Oh? Again?”
“Marvelous, is it not? The scandal, the intrigue—”

Angwi does not even flick an ear toward them. ‘Ain’t got time for your nonsense, ladies. Move.’
Further down the hall, a cluster of gentlemen stagger past her, stumbling over each other, wine on their breath, muttering complaints about the heat of the ballroom.
“It is too crowded—”
“Heard the adopted prince has not returned yet—”
“She is probably taking his time, the beautiful thing—”

She does not slow. She does not breathe. Her pulse is a war drum. Find him. Find him. Find him. Protect your prince. Fix the night. Finish the mission. Go. Every step sharpens her purpose. Every passing conversation simply blurs around the edges, irrelevant, unimportant.

She knows why Seungmin sent her. Because she is the one who will not fail him, she is the one who will put teeth to her oath and go hunting if needed, roll up her sleeves and disgrace these perfectly polished halls if she has to. She is the one who has always, always put herself between him and the world.

Tonight, the world has stepped over the line.
Her thoughts build like lightning in her skull. She pauses only for a moment, hand tapping her hip as she thinks. ‘Think, think, think. Figure it out. What does he want? Why is he still here?’

He didn’t just ruin the dress.
That wasn’t just anger.
Not just spite.
Something uglier.
Something pointed.’

Things begin to piece together, it is right under her nose, it is right in front of her.
She turns a corner so fast her skirt snaps like a sail. Another hallway, voices echoing from the balcony overlooking the ballroom.

“—the prince is taking quite long, is he not?”
“Perhaps he is preparing a surprise?”
“Perhaps something went wrong—”

Angwi clenches her jaw.

‘Stop worrying about rumors, girl. Focus. He ain’t wanderin’. He ain’t lost. He still here for a reason. Men like him don’t stay in crowds—they hunt.’ Her breath catches at the revelation. They hunt. Hunters stalk. A realization hits her so hard she stops walking altogether. No.

No, that bastard ain’t destroy the dress out of rage. He destroyed it to pull them away. To create chaos. To distract the household. To split them up.

Her eyes go wide, pupils sharp as knives.

“The dress…” she whispers, heart punching her ribs. “It wasn’t the goal. It was a distraction.” Her stomach drops clean through the floor.

He wants revenge, to humiliate the person back.
On the person who got him fired, yes—but more than that. There is only one person in this palace whose presence enflames alphas like him into reckless stupidity. Only one person he had stared at too long, hated too much. Only one person whose beauty invites obsession, jealousy, entitlement.

Only one target worth risking execution for.

The prince.

“And he ain’t got nobody with him,” Angwi breathes, horror slicing through her. “Shit. SHIT—!” She bolts. She hikes her skirts, sprinting, ignoring gasps from passing citizens and nobles as she tears through the marble corridors. The music from below fades behind slamming doors, replaced by the hollow, echoing silence of the royal wing.

Her shoes skid across polished floor when she turns sharply into the restricted corridor leading to the private areas—this part of the castle is quiet, empty, untouched by the chaos of the party, off limits to anybody who is not the royal family or approved staff.

Exactly the kind of place a predator would go. Exactly the only place Seungmin would be completely alone. Her heart roars in her ears.

Go. Go. GO. He’s in danger. MOVE.

She is halfway down the hallway when a voice calls faintly behind her.

“…Angwi?”

She barely registers it—a blur of dark uniform, broad shoulders, a glint of military silver. Lieutenant Seo, the military chief. Angwi had especially invited him for the prince, so yes, he knows her. He recognizes her even dressed as the prince’s bondmaid. But she does not stop or turn. She has no air to waste on answering. Every muscle in her body is tuned to one truth.

Her prince is in danger. So she runs. A protective fury floods her veins, the promise she made burning hot in her chest, her mission carved into her bones. She does not look back.

The scene snaps into brutal focus the moment she rounds the corner: Seungmin half-fallen, scrambling backward across the polished floor, and Mr. Dulan—uninvited, furious, red-faced—towering over him. His scent is sharp, bitter, wrong. His hands are already reaching for Seungmin’s throat.

Angwi does not think.

She moves.

Angwi is tall, but Mr. Dulan is taller—tall enough that it is a wonder he snuck through the castle without being caught. He is quick to step towards Seungmin, ready like a predator prepared to pounce, Angwi is quicker. She is a sudden blur of pink fabric and curly hair barreling down the hall, launching herself at him with zero hesitation.

Her arm hooks around his neck, locking tight. The man makes a strangled, helpless sound as she chokes the air out of him.

He flails, gasping, stumbling backward and away from Seungmin. Seungmin watches in shock as Angwi’s smaller frame tightens around his throat with terrifying precision. Dulan claws at her wrists, prying, scraping, panicking—but she only squeezes harder. His face begins to turn mottled blue.

Desperate, he staggers backward into a decorative table, slamming Angwi’s torso into a massive glass vase.

She yelps at the impact, the sound sharp, but she does not release him until the vase explodes beneath her and she loses her footing, dropping onto the table in a shower of shards. Only then does the man wrench himself free, collapsing onto the ground, gasping for air like a landed fish.

Angwi is quick to bounce back—despite the glittering pieces of glass embedded in her gown and skin. She drops from the table with feline ease, her eyes tracking the large man as he grovels and wheezes. There is something predatory in her gaze as she steps cleanly in front of Seungmin’s fallen form, shielding him like some furious, pink guardian angel.

“Get the fuck up,” she spits.

Her voice is sweet, sultry—wrongly soft for someone who had just nearly throttled a grown alpha to death. Seungmin watches, awed, as she sweeps her curls off her shoulder and pulls a thick piece of glass from the torn strap of her dress, letting it clatter to the floor as if it were nothing more than a splinter.

Dulan rises, face red with humiliation, eyebrows pinched with rage. He wastes no time speaking. Anger moves him. Stupidity fuels him. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a knife—shining, sharp, trembling in his hand.

“Angwi—” Seungmin warns.

“Shh, I see it, sugar.” She does not even look back at him. “He know ain’t no way he gone best me without it, that’s all that is.” A beat. A slow smile. “Ain’t no way he gone best me with it either, though.” She tilts her head, provoking him with a lazy sweetness.
“You gone use that there weapon, or you just gone wave it around? Like a brainless alpha with a knot?”

Dulan lunges—falling straight into her trap. He swings upward, hoping to carve her open from chin to brow, but Angwi is quicker. She dodges the blade effortlessly, her hand snapping around his wrist to stop the strike cold. She holds her ground, her arms do not so much as tremble as she presses his inferior strength back against him. “Come on then,” she huffs, still smiling. “Allat talk about big bad alphas and you can’t sweatin like a sinner in church ‘cause of one little bondmaid.”

He growls, frustrated, straining against someone he should easily overpower. Angwi’s expression does not shift—only sharpens with purpose.

Then she lifts her foot and plants a polished boot right into his chest with a brutal yell of effort. He grunts, folding around the impact, the air leaving him in a single ugly burst. The pink-and-black thigh high straps on her long legs flash as she sends him flying back onto the hard marble.

She stalks after him, grabs him by his perfectly ironed shirt, and slams him into the ground so hard Seungmin actually feels the floor shudder. Dulan groans, flailing, punching at her waist and digging his nails into her arms, but Angwi does not budge. Left, right, left again. Her fists land over and over until the man is leaking across the pristine floors.

He looks pathetic beneath her. Any subcist alpha would die of shame in his position. Angwi—decked in frills, her curls spilling from their ponytail, wearing a special bright-pink dress gifted to her by the queen for tonight—is on top of a fully grown alpha beating him down like one some sort of war goddess.

It is… impressive.

Seungmin watches, stunned, as this girl—just ten and eight—dominates an alpha easily in his thirties. He knew she was capable, but he never understood how capable until now.

But Dulan, somehow, manages to twist them over, using every scrap of leftover strength. Angwi hits the floor with a surprised yelp, and Dulan—hands too shaky to form fists—goes for her throat, wrapping thick fingers around her slender neck.

“Annoying little omega whore!” he snarls. Angwi barely flinches. Her hands tremble with effort as she pries his fingers off, inch by inch. Their bodies quake with opposing force. She wins. Slowly but surely, she rips his hand away from her reddening caramel skin.

Seungmin catches a flash beneath her dress—her thigh-high stocking riding up, silver glinting beneath the pink fabric. A dagger. One he recognizes, military issued, but they are usually gold. The one strapped to her upper thigh seems to be diamond or crystal of some kind. He wants to shout for her to use it, but if Dulan got there first—

“Motha fucka,” Angwi growls right back. She drives her heel into his chest again, a vicious kick that launches him off her and onto the polished floor. Angwi rolls onto her side, breathless but unbroken, then pushes herself up. She lifts her skirt, grabbing the dagger from the strap on her stocking, holding it with cold purpose as she approaches the bloodied man.

Her hair has fallen from its updo, curls wild and in disarray, yet somehow her kinky pattern spills across her face elegantly. She blows one stubborn curl out of her eyes with an irritated huff. She almost has him.

For a moment, Seungmin truly believes they have won—that this bastard will finally breathe his last by her hands, and Seungmin can claim it was self-defense. Technically, he should stop her. Murder is still illegal outside of the war. But he never gets the chance. Angwi freezes, her legs trembling as the air suddenly fills with a foreign scent; green tea.

It floods the hallway in a thick, dizzying wave—far too powerful, far too concentrated. Alpha pheromones, poured out with zero restraint. Even Seungmin feels his stomach flip from the force of it. Angwi holds herself tall, but the assault on her senses slows her step.

She does not smell it fast enough. She does not brace in time. And that split-second distraction— that single stagger is all Dulan needs. Pain, humiliation, through it all he surges up with a snarl, pushing through the agony that is without a doubt ringing through his skull.

Dulan moves before Angwi’s vision can fully clear.

He lunges—sloppy, desperate, feral—and Angwi reacts on instinct, raising her dagger, stepping in to meet him. But the pheromones hit her again, harder this time, a suffocating wave of disorienting green tea that fogs the edges of her focus.

And that is when it happens, the knife punches into her side and Seungmin watches in horror as it sinks in, past the material of her clothing, puncturing her body beneath. The sound she makes is small—more squeak than voice—but Seungmin hears it like a cannon going off inside his ribcage. Her dress ripples with the impact, pink material darkening immediately as blood begins to bloom beneath it.

Seungmin screams her name—he thinks he does—but the sound barely leaves him before she is already reacting, already fighting, already refusing to go down.

Because she is Angwi.
Her breath grows sharp and fast, not from fear but from burning, furious pain. He snarls, trying to wrench the knife back to stab again, to plunge the knife in.
But even stabbed—bleeding, dizzy, overwhelmed by pheromones—she is still stronger.

Angwi’s hand snaps up and clamps around his wrist. Even drugged and stabbed, her grip is so unyielding her knuckles pale. Her jaw trembles, her pupils blown wide with pheromone fog, yet she is still strong enough to stop him cold.

Dulan snarls like an animal cornered. He throws his whole weight forward, knocking her off balance. They crash to the ground in a tangle of silk, boots, and fury, her skirt flaring, her back skidding against the alley’s stone. He lands over her, knees braced between her legs, hands locked on the knife as he tries to drive it in a second time. The force of his body pushes the first wound deeper, drawing a rough cry from her throat.

Seungmin steps forward, instinct overriding everything—
but Angwi’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and commanding despite her pain.
“Don’t move, ma Prince.”

It nearly breaks him. Her blood is all over her. Her breath is ragged. She is shaking.
Yet she is still protecting him.

She does not look at him; her focus is fixed entirely on Dulan looming over her, trying to free his wrist from her grasp. “I can take him,” she grits out, breath hot with pain. “You can’t.” The words barely leave her mouth before Dulan rips backward, knife lifting high, ready for another plunge. For the briefest moment, his stance opens. It is half a second. It is all she needs.

Her other hand flies to her thigh, fingers curling around the second dagger hidden beneath her dress—the one he never managed to reach. Her arm moves with a speed almost too fast for Seungmin’s panicked mind to register, a single clean, decisive slash that cuts upward across his exposed throat.

The effect is immediate and horrifying. Skin parts like soft fruit under the blade, a crimson arc flaring across her bodice, she flinches, shutting her eyes as the substance sprays over her front. Dulan freezes, eyes widening as the sudden rush of air and blood overwhelms him, choking on his own breath as the life spills out in heavy, bubbling pulses. He collapses forward onto her, dead weight soaking her already-ruined dress in a fresh cascade of red.

For a moment, the hall goes strangely quiet—just Angwi’s hitched breathing and the steady drip of blood pattering onto clean floors. Seungmin stands rooted, shock locking his muscles.

Then footsteps thunder behind him.

The world is a blur of movement—blood dripping, marble gleaming, breath catching—and then someone bursts through the threshold like the clash of a cymbal. Sergeant Changbin, or Lieutenants Seo, Seungmin recognizes. One of the kingdom’s military commanders.

The instant recognition—Angwi bleeding, Dulan sprawled over her—erupts into a snarl of pure fury. He shoves past Seungmin without hesitation, reaches them in two strides, and seizes Dulan by the collar. The dead man is ripped off Angwi’s body like he weighs nothing, tossed hard against the wall.

His men flood in behind him in a stagger of boots and rattling weapons, but he wastes no time barking orders, voice sharp as steel slicing through air. “Check on the prince—now!”
They scatter instantly.

His gaze locks onto the ruin of a man gasping out his last beside Angwi, and without hesitation he strides forward, knocking Dulan’s weakening grip apart, wrenching the knife from his hand as easily as lifting a feather. The dying alpha is tossed aside like refuse—because right now, nothing, nothing matters except the girl bleeding onto the floor in pink frills.

“Stay with me,” he orders, voice low and shaking with barely restrained terror. “Angwi. Look at me. Right here.” Her head tilts toward him, eyes glassy, lips slick with blood. She manages a faint, crooked smile.

“Ruined my dress again, Binnie…”

Changbin drops to his knees beside her, hands already moving with practiced precision.
“Angwi—” he huffs, sounding broken “Dammit, Bluu! What the hell have you gotten yourself into?” he mutters, though his voice wavers at the edges. It is half scolding, half relief, and entirely threaded with worry as he takes her silver dagger, slices clean through her corset, and presses firm, steady palms to her wound.

Angwi groans but still, somehow, manages to lift a trembling hand in Seungmin’s direction, warding him off even as he tries to crawl to her. “Stop—stop him,” she gasps to the soldiers hovering nearby. “He gets any of this blood on him and I swear I’m ‘on come back from the dead and snatch ya by y’all bridges.”

To Seungmin’s utter shock, every guard actually listens. They hold him back gently but firmly.
And Changbin—covered in her blood, hair mussed, muscle taut with focus—lets out a breathy laugh. “Still bossing my men around, huh? Some things never change.”

He glances up at Seungmin then, a bit of his concern melting into something warmer, softer, unexpectedly charming. A smile forms on his lips despite the situation, it hits Seungmin like a struck gong—this man is devastatingly handsome, even with crimson smeared up his arms.

Angwi sees the look. Even half-dying, she rolls her eyes with a smile so faint it is nearly invisible. “I ain’t want y’all to formally meet like this,” she whispers, breath hitching. “My bad, I had a whole thang planned out, it was gone be the beez kneez.”

Seungmin’s heart twists—fear, affection, admiration for her strength, and something new and startling sparked by Changbin’s sudden presence. But above all, the room feels tight with emotion. Tense, alive, shaking, and beautifully, painfully Dauntless.

“Bluu, you are bleeding out, is now the time for you to be talking about first impression?”
“Oh hush na, I ain’t bleedin’ out. So damn dramatic, fuckin bastard couldn’t even find a butchers knife so he could so some real damage.”

“Angwi!” Seungmin whines, the guards are still holding him back, knelt on the floor at his left and right with their arms hooked under his. He is a mess of tears and anxiety where he sits on the floor, terror apparent all throughout his body with the amount of blood that seems to be flooding from her wound. She is losing color by the minute, and it is getting harder and harder for Seungmin to stay calm on her behalf, choking on the smell of iron.

Blood still drips in quiet, uneven patterns onto the floor, the sound almost delicate compared to the violence that caused it. Changbin’s hands remain firm on Angwi’s wound, his forearms tense, jaw clenched, sweat gathering at his temples from focus.

Seungmin is still struggling against the guards hold, tears streaking down his face, breath breaking apart in sharp, terrified gasps. He has never seen so much blood in his life. And it is hers.

“Angwi! I am so sorry– I am–” His voice fractures on every word. Angwi, weak, barely conscious, rolls her eyes like his panic is personally inconveniencing her. “Sugar… hush,” she groans, trying to lift her head. “Quit allat cryin’. You ain’t neva been stabbed before? I ain’t dyin’—most of this ain’t even my blood.”

She drags a hand across her soaked bodice with a weak scoff. “You slit a man’s throat, it gets real messy. He the one who got himself all over my cute frills. I oughta haunt him just for that.”

“You are going to give the poor prince a heart attack, for one in your life Bluu, show some restraint!” Changbin scolds, his loud voice is softened by his own worry, but it is playful more than anything. The comfort the two have with one another reminds Seungmin of a brother and sister.

Angwi, she laughs, breathless, delirious—which somehow makes Seungmin cry harder. A guard darts away down the hall—and within seconds the air shifts. Silk rustles. Perfume—expensive, dark, commanding—sweeps in like the entrance of a storm.

Queen Raveena arrives not walking, but gliding, her gown an ocean of deep violet and midnight-blue stones that catch every lantern flame. Two royal servants trail behind her, wide-eyed, useless, swept up in her wake. Her gaze goes straight to Angwi, to Changbin’s blood-soaked hands, to Seungmin’s trembling form held between two armored soldiers.

“What has happened?” She commands the space, Changbin’s guards all straighten up like there are iron poles in their spines. The guards bow so deeply Seungmin can hear armor scrape marble. Changbin does not look up, too busy keeping Angwi alive—but his shoulders stiffen.

Seungmin tries to run to her—but the guards hold him back again and he screams, not in anger but raw fear. “My queen.” Changbin says, eyes still focused even through Seungmin’s frantic crying.

“I do believe that man there tried to harm your nephew, your highness. Angwi—eh—bondmaid Bluu fought to protect him.” He explains briefly. Queen Raveena’s eyes face the heap of man on the floor, she raises an eyebrow at its condition. “The corpse?” she questions.

Changbin nods once, only glancing up at the queen briefly before focusing back towards Angwi’s wound.

“Auntie– she is dying. What to we do– I do not want to lose her–”
“Kim-Suu Seungmin.” Raveena’s voice commands order, it silences every urge Seungmin has to grovel or plead for help, her gaze rips into him like a saw, his words silenced with a single stare.

“This,” she says, pointing gently to Angwi’s blood on his hands, on his robe, “is what it means to be a king.”

Her voice is not cruel. It is not warm. It is steel forged in love.

“You are no longer protected by childhood. You are no longer shielded by innocence. A crown does not guard you—you guard it. You must be stronger now than you were one hour ago. Do you understand me?”

Seungmin shakes his head helplessly. “Auntie– I cannot–”
“You must.” She corrects, a heavy, manicured hand resting on top of his skull, the womans gaze steadies the prince like balance when she speaks again. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown, my nephew.” He sobs, shaking, breaking apart. “You are safe,” she says. “She has protected you.”

That makes it worse—he sighs. The woman turns, a single sharp flick of her fingers. “Lieutenant Seo. Lift the bondmaid.” Changbin slides an arm beneath Angwi and lifts her as if she weighs nothing. Angwi groans, eyes fluttering.

“Bondmaid Bluu,” Raveena murmurs, stepping close, brushing a curl from Angwi’s blood-speckled forehead. “My fierce little star. You have done well.”

Angwi, delirious, grins. “Toldja… ain’t nobody… takin’ my prince.” She suddenly winces, then mutters, “This blood ain’t even all mine, Your Majesty—this fool jus’ sprayed. Gonna need a new dress though. Done ruined a perfectly good outfit.”

Raveena actually lets out a soft exhale—the closest she will come to a laugh tonight.
Angwi reaches one sticky hand towards Seungmin, despite the blood on it that she once forbade him to touch. “Ma prince.” She calls, Seungmin almost trips over his robe trying to get to her, the guards letting him go only at her beckon.

“If you wanna help me tonight,” she whispers, voice faint but sure, “you go in that ballroom… and you shine. You show ‘em this night ain’t gone be fucked jus’ ‘cause some nasty bastard tried to ruin it.”

Her fingers squeeze his—weak, sticky with crimson—but present.

“You wear that dress. You wear that crown. You take care of yo’self while I’m outta commission. You hear?”

Something in him ignites, silent yet ferocious. Like Mama Tilly said—her fury flower.
A fire blooming through his bones. Raveena watches this spark catch. She nods once. Then she turns, sweeping Angwi into her arms—not delegating, not waiting—the queen herself carries a bondmaid, her gown collecting blood like a war banner.

“Lieutenant Seo,” she commands, “return the prince to his chambers, then change. Have the servants clean him and prepare him. And make certain his stance does not falter when he enters that ballroom. You are responsible for the prince until Bondmaid Bluu can return to his side, take care of my nephew.”

Changbin nods, bowing deep at the waist. He takes a mindful glance at where Seungmin’s hand is trembling, intertwined with Angwi’s, the woman slowly fading from consciousness as the moments pass. Efficiently yet carefully, he pries their hands from the hold, taking them apart with capable precision. He uses his own body to block the view of Angwi from Seungmin’s sight, slowly, he coaxes the omega to turn and begin his way back towards his chamber.

Back in his space, Seungmin stands before the vanity mirror, chest heaving, the perfume of iron still coating his tongue. Blood streaks his throat, freckles his jaw, stains the soft lavender of his sleeves. Some of it is Angwi’s. Some is Dulan’s. None of it should ever have touched a prince.
Or should it have?

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”

He grips the edge of the vanity, knuckles whitening, and forces himself to look—really look. This is rule. Not crowns and silk and dancing. Not admiration or applause. This is the price of loyalty. The cost of being protected. The moment childhood ends.

And still—he straightens his spine.

He will rise.

He will walk into that ballroom and make the world forget that blood ever touched the tiles.
He will dazzle them. He will claim his night. “I am ready,” he whispers. The room hears him. The kingdom will, too.

The maids descend upon him at once—quiet, efficient, reverent. Cloths soaked in warm water sweep over his skin, cleansing the blood without erasing the memory. They peel away his ruined robe, strip him out of the shredded layers, and replace them with new silks, new lace, a corset cinched tight around his ribs. It is undeniably feminine, soft, delicate, huge—unfit for an illegitimate prince.

But it is fit for him. Their hands are gentle. Skilled, loyal, but they are not Angwi’s.
And the absence of her touch, her voice, her warmth—it scorches him hotter than any wound could. Fire blooms beneath his skin. A fury flower, unfurling in his chest.

A prince baptized in blood.
A king in the making.

Notes:

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Chapter 8: A Night To Remember, Part 2

Notes:

You know the crazy thing about autism and adhd? My memory. I can’t tell you how many times I repeat myself while writing and don’t remember that I wrote something multiple times until I’m editing, ngl it’s humiliating.

Anways, IM SORRY FOR THE DELAY THERE WAS THANKSGIVING AND ADULTING AND NUERODIVERGENT BRAIN, BUT HERES A 13K WORD CONCLUSION TO THE BALL TO MAKE UP FOR IT. I LUH Y’ALL, ENJOY, HAPPY READING TEEHEE 🎀

Chapter Text

DAUNTLESS -Mood Board

The hall is still, save for the quiet synchronization of Seungmin’s breath with the music bleeding faintly through the doors. He stands with Changbin at his side, their arms linked. Not for show. Not for protocol. But because Angwi—his second favorite person in the world—lies pale and fighting somewhere far from this gilded room, and someone must stand in her place.

Changbin is steady heat beside him. A wall. A promise. A reminder that he is not alone.

The music folds into something new: a slow unfurling of strings, a subtle reworking of the evening’s theme, something softer, deeper, unmistakably royal. The atmosphere on the other side of the doors shifts so sharply it is almost audible. It feels like the entire ballroom rises onto its toes.

Seungmin lowers his chin, feels the weight of his dress pooling around him—silk, embroidery, gemstones that glitter like water catching flame. He has never been more adorned. Never been more seen. Never been more alone.

But he is calm. Regal.

His heartbeat, though excited, moves with a musician’s discipline: steady, controlled, shaped into art. That is what Aunt Raveena taught him. That emotion can be a crown if worn properly. That posture and breath are a language of their own.

She is not here to remind him, to adjust his shoulders or kiss his cheek or whisper, my boy, you were made for this. He has to believe it himself now. And he does.The attendants push the doors open. Silence falls like a blade in slow motion.

The ballroom—grand, soaring, drenched in candlelight and velvets and golds—seems to exhale all at once. Every noble, every servant, every musician freezes. The air thickens with scent: disease and fear from the crowd, and underneath it, Seungmin’s own scent—tainted with the faint unmistakable edge of danger. A scent that says: something happened to the prince tonight.

They smell it, and they fear it. When fear mixes with awe, it creates reverence. As Seungmin steps forward on Changbin’s arm, something extraordinary happens.

On either side of the great staircase, soldiers move. In rows, in perfect unspoken coordination, Changbin’s men separate the gathering crowd with quiet, disciplined gestures. Then they line themselves from the top step to the marble below, forming two living columns.

Not a single person commanded it. The explanation is simple, really.

They do it because they saw Seungmin bleed tonight. Because they saw what he endured. Because they have always been treated like people, not tools, by his family.
Because loyalty, once earned, becomes devotion. Seungmin stops at the top step, struck breathless. He knows instantly what this means.

The spine—the muscle—of the kingdom has chosen him back.

His chest tightens—not with weakness, but with something fierce and painful and beautiful. His eyes sting. He refuses to cry. Not here, not now. But the emotion moves through him like flame under glass, too bright to hide completely.

Changbin feels it in the tremor of his wrist, and he wastes no time stilling it swiftly with his opposite hand. He does not look away from their audience even as they approach descendants.

“Steady,” Changbin says, voice low with quiet pride. “You have got this, stand tall my prince. You are the survivor of the night, a strategist for building cities, a great help to men who risk their lives for your family and kingdom everyday in war. You are more than they know.”

Seungmin does not answer. He does not need to. He takes his first step down the staircase, as he does, soldiers bow. Deeply. Fully. As if greeting a crowned king.

Gasps ripple through the ballroom.

And with every step he takes—Changbin guiding him slowly, protectively—the murmurs swell. Nobody dares approach. Even the boldest alphas shrink back. Their hesitation reeks of fear, intimidation, awe. They see an omega, yes—but one wrapped in the unmistakable scent of survival, danger, and untouchable authority.

Seungmin feels the energy shift. They are not avoiding him because he is undesirable. They are avoiding him because he is too much. Too powerful. Too radiant. Too dangerous to touch. And Seungmin thinks, cool and vicious under his beauty: If you cannot step forward now, you are not worthy of me.

Only when he reaches the marble floor does Changbin release his arm with a bow deep enough to echo the soldiers’ reverence. Seungmin stands alone—poised, gleaming, unshaken. And only then—once he has proven his ability to stand on his lonesome—does someone finally step forward.

The crowd parts sharply, like a tide pulled by the moon, and Minho appears—moving with certainty, with purpose, with the kind of courage only someone who truly cares possesses. He does not bow low or treat Seungmin like glass. Never has. He simply lifts his eyes to the prince, and something in the air warms.

“Your Highness,” Minho says, voice rich and steady, “you look gorgeous.” Not appropriate. Not lovely. Gorgeous. Minho reaches out his hand, palm open, Seungmin wastes no time placing his own into it.

And Minho doesn’t hesitate—he pulls Seungmin gently forward, spins him once under the lights, not to show him off, but to let the room feel, unmistakably. This prince is not fragile, nor is he broken. This prince is here to be worshiped.

The ballroom gasps again at the display of Seungmin’s gown, his presence. And Seungmin—held steady in Minho’s sure hands—finally lets himself smile. Because this is it. His night. His introduction. His claim to the kingdom. His moment.

When Minho steps back from Seungmin—bowing low, releasing his hand with a reverence that feels like a promise rather than a gesture—the crowd inhales as one. His departure leaves a small hollow of space around the prince, a shining orbit waiting to be claimed. The chandeliers throw ribbons of light along the marble floor, making Seungmin glow like something celestial and untouchable.

And yet no one moves.

Not a single noble or suitor steps forward. Their scents waver between awe and fear, a trembling fog that curls at the prince’s hem. He senses the hesitation—they smell the danger on him, the violence he barely escaped, the crown that suddenly fits him too well. None dare approach.

Until two do.

From the left, Jeongin pushes forward: young, earnest, posture carefully schooled into grace yet betraying its tremor at the edges. His eyes find Seungmin as if drawn by gravity alone.

From the right, Jisung emerges in a burst of restless energy: curls unsettled from performing, cheeks flushed from hurrying down from the musicians’ tier, music still clinging to him like a second heartbeat.

Neither notices the other. Not until they reach the front of the crowd—and step into the same spot.

Both halt at once, startled by the mirrored impulse. Both men compose themselves in the same breath. And both, with all the sincerity and devotion their chests can bear, bow their heads and speak—

“My prince…”

The words strike the air at the same moment, soft yet echoing as if the ballroom itself pauses to listen. A hush falls over the space as servants still and nobles stare, Seungmin’s lips parting in genuine surprise.

The two young men turn toward one another, polite shock giving way to the faintest flicker of tension—nothing coarse or argumentative, but the refined, restrained kind of rivalry nobles spend a lifetime mastering. A subtle tightening of shoulders. A delicate lift of chin. The smallest narrowing of eyes.

Jeongin recovers first, offering the barest, court-perfect smile. “Forgive me,” he murmurs, voice quiet but steady. “I had not realized someone else had the same intent.” Jisung bows fractionally deeper, tone silk-gloved but unmistakably pointed.“The fault is mine, sir. I had believed myself the first to approach.”

“It would seem,” Jeongin replies, “that we arrived simultaneously.”

The beta makes a face of perplexion. “And yet,” Jisung answers with a soft, charming lilt, “I recall stepping forward before I saw you inch ahead, I am sure I would be able to recall such a handsome man making more haste than I, thank you.” Jeongin breathes a polite laugh—barely audible, but edged. “An interesting recollection indeed. I remember differently.”

None of it is loud or crass. It is the most polite, most exquisitely mannered duel Seungmin has ever witnessed. And he—shaken, blood-worn, newly reborn into power—laughs. Truly laughs. A sound bright and delicate, yet carrying through the hall like bells on a winter morning. Something in the room melts with it. Shoulders soften. A few nobles smile into their cups. Even Changbin’s stern façade fractures briefly at the edges.

Minho steps forward—not to interrupt, but to rescue, as one might catch a silk veil before it drifts into a flame.

“Maestro Jisung, Jeongin,” he says smoothly, slightly declining his head to both Jeongin and Jisung with impeccable courtesy, “your devotion honors the prince. But I believe the evening may yet accommodate you both.”

Jeongin looks at him, ill-mannered with the testing raise of his eyebrow. Jisung tilts his head, curious. Minho continues, voice quiet enough to keep from embarrassing anyone, loud enough for the prince to hear.

“Master Han… the orchestra awaits your guidance. I imagine Mr. Yang will require a musician of your skill, should he wish to open the prince’s next dance.” It is diplomatic. It is elegant.
And most importantly—it solves everything beautifully.

Jisung’s eyes brighten at once, humility and pride mixing in perfect measure.
“Of course. If His Highness desires it, I would be honored to play.” Jeongin exhales, relieved yet emboldened. He turns to Seungmin, offering his hand with gentle bravery.

“If you would grant me your next dance, my prince… I would be grateful beyond measure.” Seungmin, still soft with laughter, still trembling with the remnants of the night’s violence and triumph, gives his hand willingly, warmly. “Jeongin,” he says softly, the name of a ribbon on his tongue, “I would like that very much.” Jisung bows once more, sincerity shining through him like light through crystal, before retreating toward the grand piano.

Minho steps back, satisfied, and Seungmin—standing atop a kingdom that only moments ago feared him, now held up by those brave enough to claim him—finally feels the night shift into something magical.

He is lead to the dance floor, Jeongin’s hand finds Seungmin’s waist with the easy precision of someone who has done this a hundred times — and the immediate, inevitable complaint follows.

“Stand up straight,” Jeongin mutters, already knitpicking at the omega. “I am standing straight,” Seungmin replies, lashes fluttering innocently as he shifts closer on purpose. His voice is all sugar; his intentions all poison.

Jeongin’s grip tightens. “A plague upon you.”

Seungmin gasps, delighted. “A plague? During my ball? How very unromantic, Innie.” Jeongin laughs through his nose — the sound of a man who has chosen patience only because murder is frowned upon at royal functions.

Their first turn sweeps them into motion, seamless despite their constant bickering. Jeongin leads with rigid dignity, every line of him determined, controlled, desperately pretending he does not care. Meanwhile, Seungmin is already smiling — bright, wicked, alive — the kind of smile that should be illegal in polite society.

“You enjoy the attention far too much,” Jeongin murmurs, low so only Seungmin hears it.

“And you enjoy pretending you do not, you have still got it, ex noble.” Seungmin fires back, tilting his head to catch the light just right. Jeongin’s jaw clenches. “Mind yourself.”

Seungmin tilts his head.“Or what?”

Jeongin pulls him closer, their proximity making it so their breaths tangle, and most of Seungmin’s balance is dependant on the alphas strength as they turn about the dance floor. “Or I shall drop you, let the floor bear your weight instead.” Seungmin scoffs, unbothered, if anything, he lets himself be carried with even less security from his own hold on the others shoulders. “You would never.”

And Jeongin does not answer, because they both know the truth. He would sooner collapse himself than let Seungmin fall. They glide into a sweeping arc; Seungmin’s gown spills behind him like a living comet tail, drawing gasps, stares, whispers rippling across the ballroom like stirred silk.

Jeongin eyes it, unimpressed. “Your dress, it is—”
“Magnificent?” Seungmin offers helpfully. Jeongin raises an eyebrow, as if saying ‘you are fully aware that is not what I was going to say.’
“—absurdly large. And cream.” he corrects.

Seungmin beams, nodding once. “Yes, thank you. It is a reflection of my soul. Still, prominent edges, yet full of emotion and life.” The other man simply shakes his head. “A menace,” Jeongin says flatly. “A masterpiece,” Seungmin corrects with a smile.

Another turn. Their hands tighten; their steps align. Seungmin drifts closer — close enough for Jeongin to feel the warmth of his breath along his cheek, close enough for Jeongin’s ears to turn traitorously pink.

“Guide me,” Seungmin murmurs, soft beneath all the mischief, the barest hint of sincerity shining through. Jeongin’s throat works once. “I always do… do I not?” The omega lowers his head, approving as he teases once again.“You pretend exhaustion at my whims,” Seungmin whispers.

Jeongnin rolls his eyes, as if just this conversation is plaguing him. “You are exhausting.” he pushes. Seungmin does a teasing shimmy of his shoulders, daring. “And yet here you are.” Jeongin meets his gaze — brief, sharp, unbearably fond. “Against my better judgment.”

Which, translated from Jeongin-speak, means ‘I would bend the world for you, you insufferable creature.’ He is similar to Minho in that fashion.

The music swells like a tide rising, and Jeongin spins him — a clean, elegant twirl that sends Seungmin’s gown blooming across the floor. Seungmin lets out a delighted laugh, the unguarded kind that Jeongin hears once every few months and hoards like treasure.

“Do not look so fond,” Seungmin teases as they rejoin.

“Do not look so radiant,” Jeongin counters, steps never faltering as he twirls Seungmin effortlessly once more, earning awed whoos from the crowd when they see his gown in action. “Jealous?”

Jeongin scoffs, sticking out his legs and tripping the omega, only for him to catch the other man in a swift dip while he gasps, pausing when they face each other, making eye contact. “Mortified.” he muses. Seungmin grins, wicked. “You are dreadful at lying.”

On the final measure, Jeongin lifts him — arms steady, breath soft — a strong sweep that makes Seungmin’s entire train arc like moonlight caught mid-flight. The ballroom breaks into applause that shimmers like crystal.

As Jeongin lowers him, Seungmin’s smile is triumphant, flushed, breathtakingly pleased with himself. Jeongin’s fingers leave his waist at last — a scandalously gentle touch for a man who has complained the entire dance.

“Go on, then,” Jeongin murmurs, nodding subtly toward the waiting piano. “You are dying to cause more spectacle.” Seungmin pouts, attempting at hiding his smile, and the way his heart sings when Jeongin tilts his head endearingly at him. “Already casting me aside?” Seungmin asks sweetly.
“Desperately.”
“You do so adore me.”
The jewelry maker lets out an endearing sigh as he bows, swift, narrow. “Unfortunately.”

Seungmin smirks — victorious, glowing — before turning to make his way towards the piano, skirts whispering behind him like a promise. And Jeongin watches him go, face carefully playful, hands clasped behind his back, pretending — with all the skill of a practiced liar — that it was not the highlight of his night.

Seungmin sweeps through the ballroom like a dream bubble, people take their chance as he passes to really look at his dress, and the omega holds his head high on his way to the grand piano.

“A male omega in a gown during his debut? Let alone one that size? Absurd.”
“He is crazy.. I cannot fathom what his mothers have to deal with.”
With every negative whisper, every snarl behind a champagne glass, there is one that makes Seungmin’s audacious gallants worth the scandal.
“He is gorgeous, I could not even pull off a corset like that.”
“The kingdom will talk for months, I do not doubt he will be on everyone's mind during winter.”
“Who in the world made such an extravagant dress?”

Seungmin’s mind drifts to Angwi, what she is doing, if she even still breathing, her words inspire him, inspiring him to push on, though his heart aches for her pain—from his worry for her.

“Shine, na. Show ‘em why the moon is jealous of ya.”

Seungmin is welcomed to the piano by an enthusiastic Jisung, hand out for the prince to take. He does, it steadies him, just enough to ground his heart, enough so he can bottle his emotions up, or better yet, pour it into the keys.

“My absolutely dazzling prince, you are alluring! I have never seen someone so unequelled. Your smile is my favorite note to read, your voice my favorite note to hear.”
It is poetic, though Jisung’s body language is all but coordinated, he surely has a way with lyrics, with music. The crowd around them nearly swoons, Jisung dips his head rubbing his head shyly as if he had forgotten they had an audience.

Seungmin beams, his hurting heart singing. Maestro Han does have great ability to ease his troubles in dire situations. “Master Jisung, you are too much.” he knows his chest is flushing, his ears turning red. It makes him feel better to know that Jisung’s are as well, coloring as the moments pass.

“Please, my unrivaled belle, join me on the piano?” he bows, placing kisses up Seungmin’s wrist like he cannot help himself, the crowd woo’s around them, there is a mixture of discontent and awe around them, and the prince is delighted with both. It does not go unnoticed, the specified compliment at which he uses, either.

‘Belle’ was the word, gender type defying much like Seungmin’s too tiny corset, and his large dress. It seems the maestro knows more than music notes and violin cords, he is feeding into Seungmin’s rebellious disobedience towards society and its rules, playing along. It is simply enthralling.

“Maestro, my maestro.” Seungmin hums. “What peace would you like me to floor you in tonight? I do hope I will not have to hurt your feelings too much, you are so sweet to me after all.”
Jisung’s brows raise at the obvious challenge, he does not hesitate to take Seungmin’s bait, which just makes him all the more pervious to the omegas games.

“Oh? You think yourself to best me tonight? I would hate humble you at your own ball, my prince.” Seungmin only laughs, following as Jisung leads him by his hand to the grand piano.

The murmuring in the ballroom shifts like wind through tall grass, curiosity pulling bodies closer, closer, until a loose circle forms around the piano. Shoes click softly. Dresses brush against coats. Someone gasps when Seungmin’s hands strike the opening keys with a directness that feels like confession.

Changbin’s head pops up first through the crowd, eyes blown wide. He elbows Jeongin.

Jeongin is already craning his neck, cheeks flushed from champagne and awe. “Holy shit, I have not heard him play in years. Surprisingly, it never gets old.” His voice cracks into a whisper as if speaking too loud would break the fragile beauty forming in front of them.

They wedge themselves between guests and snag the front, breathless. Changbin stops only once he is standing nearby, eyes sparkling as he watches the prince pour his heart onto the instrument, because it is not just playing. It is bleeding. It is a storm hollowing out the room.

A shift in the crowd’s pressure announces Minho before anyone sees him. People move aside instinctively, not for status, or meaningless riches, but for the aura of someone who understands exactly what is happening.

He steps in slowly, champagne flute loosely balanced in vascular fingers, eyes zeroed in as though tuning his ears. His gaze softens the moment he sees Seungmin leaning into the keys—shoulders curled inward like he is protecting something delicate and dying inside his chest.

Minho exhales once, quietly.

Then he moves closer.

Past guests who watch him pass with the strange reverence of knowing they are witnessing something intimate. Past Changbin, who sees him and immediately steps aside. Past Jeongin, who does not even blink once because his eyes are glued to Seungmin’s shaking hands.

Minho reaches the piano.

He rests his hip against the polished instrument, one hand bracing lightly on the curve of it. Champagne glass glimmering in the other. Head bowed, lashes low, watching Seungmin with a knowing look that runs too deep for words.

Because Minho knows music. Knows movement. Knows the language of a body that is breaking and using the only vocabulary it has left.

The melody spills and cascades, shifting from fury to ache to something raw and trembling. It fills the room like water rushing through a canyon—unstoppable, relentless, shaped only by pressure and need. It wraps around ankles, laps at knees, pulls hearts downward like undertow.

Jisung does not dare cower, he simply breathes, and braces his heart as he molds this individual showcase of pain into a grand, vulnerable duet. Together, they steal the kingdoms breath.

The crowd stays silent, afraid to fracture the moment. Seungmin’s fingers tremble on a suspended chord, and Minho, without lifting his head, whispers—not to be heard, but because he cannot hold it in:

“There you are.”

The notes swell again, sharper this time, like a cut that feels good.

The room is moonlit river water—glassy, endless—carrying every listener with it as Seungmin plays the truth he could never say out loud. Minho’s smile grows slow and warm, the kind that comes from understanding a language no one else can hear. And he keeps leaning there. Watching. Guarding.

As if his presence is a hand on Seungmin’s back, steadying him through the storm.
Jisung’s eyes press closed as he loses himself in the music, his hand move in a harmony so beautiful with Seungmin’s that it almost rivals the sound their creating together.

Guests push and gawk with emotions swarming through scents and families like oxygen, it is a breathtaking showcase of talent from the prince and the maestro—and it seems everyone knows it.

As the peace comes to an end, the ballroom holds its breath while Jisung and Seungmin catch theirs. The last note rings out into the space like a church bell, and the omega turns to Jisung, a proud, thankful smile kissing his lips while the beta takes his hand once again, leaving kisses on the back of his palm as he stares the prince in the face.

Beneath the eruptions of applause—the chatter about the perfection and beauty of the their duet—Jisung whispers something private, just for Seungmin: “I do not know what troubles you tonight, my prince. And I will not pretend to be aware of what you are going through, but as of now, you have me as the missing note to your broken harmonies, and you do have the ability to lean on me whenever your heart desires.”

Seungmin nearly swoons, his hand stays tightly held in the maestros as the deafening affection of the nation becomes little more than background noise. He has been shown tonight that it does not take a village, but a dancer, a bondmaid, a military commander, an army, and a handsome, cheesy maestro who is endearingly awkward in every sense that is not musical.
It takes a kingdom.

“Thank you, Jisung. I do hope that you mean it, I have a long path ahead, and I am going to hold you to your word.” Jisung beams at the lack of formality, the affectionate smile on the prince's face. ‘How charming.’ the omega cannot help but think.

“Seungminnie!” Comes a deeper, more cheerful voice from nearby. He whips his head around to look for a familiar figure, heart jumping with joy when he spots a freckled face front and center.

“Lix!” he nearly chirps. Felix’s freckles are recognizable first, then his grin—warm, sunlit, familiar in a way that makes Seungmin’s knees nearly give. And above else, blonde hair in a sea of black heads. He shoves through the circle of admirers with zero grace and zero shame, arms already extended.

He stands from the bench, bidding Maestro Han goodbye with a warm bow and smile of courtesy. “I must go, I do so enjoy our duets, come find me later, Jisung—yes?”
The man inclines his head, a smile taking over his features though Seungmin clicks away at a pace that resembles fleeing.

Behind him, the man makes his way back to the orchestra, which continues playing on his signal as he crosses the ballroom. Seungmin very nearly tosses himself into a familiar blonde mans arms so carelessly that they almost hit the floor entangled, Felix laughing excitedly, stumbling under Seungmin’s weight.

“Minnie!! That was exquisite!”
“Bokkie!! You are here, you made it! And you are brilliant!” Cheers the taller omega bouncing in joyful bounds with his long time friend, their hands tightly clasped between them. Felix—ever the fashionista, and good friends with Estella—is in an striking cream outfit, standing out right along with Seungmin from the rest of the crowd who followed the ball's theme of velvet and gold.

Felix pulls back just enough to look at him—and the grin falters, eyes darting over Seungmin’s face, his slightly uneven breathing, the redness around his eyes no one else noticed.
“…Minnie,” Felix whispers. The softness hits like a blade. “What happened?” Seungmin feels the room tilt. For a heartbeat, he nearly breaks. Nearly.

He can’t. Angwi is somewhere between life and death—or worse—and he can’t fall apart here. Not in the middle of his ball. Not when her last request was for him to Shine, and show em.

So Seungmin pushes, he lies. He smiles. A perfect little courtly upturn of lips. “Nothing at all,” he lies gently, squeezing Felix’s hand comfortingly a couple of times. “I am well.” Even before the words leave his mouth, Felix does not believe him, Felix knows better.
Felix could simply never be fooled by Seungmin’s charade.

But Felix also knows when not to press.

“…Alright, love. Whenever you are ready then.” he murmurs between them in his mother tongue, caressing his cheek softly in a small hand as though shielding him from the world.

“Come on, your dress is causing a riot again!” Seungmin laughs, disbelieving of his friend gall. “I know you are not deciding it wise to talk of fashion critics, the train on your suit is nearly as long as mines! And not to mention the lace on your material, and the cropped jacket! I am surprised no nobles have shunned you yet!”

Felix does a twirl for Seungmin who only smiles, admiring the masterpiece of an outfit as he listens to his friends snob at social manners—-like always—along with him. Felix who is always with him, who always chooses him, always supports him. “Well, between the two of us, they do commonly mistake me for a beta woman,” he laughs. Seungmin nods, though Felix’s androgyny is certainly no secret. “And Jeongin is looking for us—something about leaving him behind’ I do not know I was so excited to see you play again I left him in the back of the ballroom. He sounded very winded when I fled.”

“Jeongin is always overly dramatic when expressing his disdain for me,” Seungmin mutters. Felix snorts. “And you are not?” he teases.They slip back into the glow of chandeliers, the swell of music gracing them as they move towards the refreshments table. It is particular, how Felix manages to see through the prince’s facade, how somehow he knows he had been crying, in need of a refreshment.

The chandeliers paint Felix’s cream suit in soft gold, lace catching and scattering the light like spun sugar, flowing sleeves drifting like wind. Their bickering fades into something gentler—a rhythm they’ve known since childhood, slipping into step without thinking.

Felix plucks a small pastry from a passing tray and holds it out, two fingers pinched like he’s offering a peace treaty.
“You need sugar,” he says knowingly. “Your scent’s still…tight.”
He hums. “Is that your polite way of saying I smell stressed?” Seungmin makes an expression fo disbelief. “Yes,” Felix answers without remorse. Seungmin huffs a laugh, grateful—deeply, wordlessly grateful. Felix never demands the truth, only offers space for it.

They reach the table just as Felix snatches up a snack, humming in delight. “This one,” he declares, “is the superior treat of the assortment tonight. Salty and yummy.” Seungmin fake gags, sticking out his tongue in a way not appropriate for a prince, even an adopted one. “It looks disgusting.” Felix hesitates not to shove it in the other omegas mouth, joyful honey and cinnamon enveloping the two of them as Seungmin pouts, though chewing without struggling and swallowing the snack down. “You look disgusting.” Felix laughs as he picks up another, putting it in his own mouth this time.

The banter is easy, a small sanctuary woven from happiness and affection. For a moment, Seungmin lets himself pretend the night is simple—just a ball, just him and Felix, just pastries. Suddenly, there are approaching footsteps behind him. Footsteps, quick and familiar.

Felix’s eyes flick over Seungmin’s shoulder. “Oh. Speak of the devil,” he murmurs. Seungmin turns—and there Jeongin is, looking personally offended by Seungmin’s continued existence.

“Fucking prince, and you! Sneaky baker.” Jeongin curses low, lest someone hear him sneering at someone who belongs to the royal family, and get him beheaded. Felix and Seungmin are already laughing before he halts in front of them. “You two left me by the wall, then the piano! Ridiculous, if you were not both older than me I would poison your wine.”

“Let us not pretend you would hesitate to do such a thing anyways.” Seungmin mumbles around the shrimp Felix has just fed him, they giggle uncontrollably, the alpha pinching at both their arms and waists as they squirm away from his vengeful hands.

“Yes, but do not speak too loudly, you will ruin my good reputation of kindness. And stop laughing, shut up.” he puts his fists up as if threatening the pair, swayed from swinging only when Felix and Seungmin start feeding him snacks from the table, Jeongin caves embarrassingly fast, ever the weak man for a good chow.

By the time the third canapé is shoved in between his lips, his shoulders have dropped from indignant squared tension to sulking relaxation. He chews like a man betrayed by his own stomach. “I do hope the pair of you are quite aware that I strongly dislike you,” he says through a mouthful of something flaky and buttery. Seungmin pats his cheek, Felix cooing. “Of course you do, Innie.”

Jeongin swats the hand away, already reaching for another pastry.
“I was looking for you,” he grumbles, eyes flickering toward Seungmin, then instantly away. “You ran off with Felix as soon as the song ended. Which is rude, by the way. Very rude.”

Felix snorts. “He did not run. He floated.”
“He fled,” Jeongin insists, pointing at Seungmin as though delivering courtroom evidence. “You cannot just disappear without me, you know I do not like noble gatherings—people are staring at me like I stepped on your train.”

“Ahem, this is not a noble ball, Innie. Or else neither of us would be here.”
“Whatever! You left me, so very rude. And if I throttled you?”
“Is that a threat or a promise?” Felix muses, wiggling his eyebrows and sticking his tongue out in overly suggestive manner as he attempts to close the space between himself and their baby alpha, who laughs and turns his head away but does not push him off.

Seungmin laughs, shoving a strawberry in his mouth as Felix playfully prods at the larger man. “What I shall really threaten you for is leaving me at the door, absurd! Running into the crowd without a second thought like an excited kitten. You damned social butterflies.”

Felix gasps dramatically. “I was greeting the nobles!” The alpha laughs. “More like stealing their hors d’oeuvres,” Jeongin corrects. Felix shrugs. “Well, that too. Taste testing just wasn’t enough.” Jeongin gives up with a groan.

The three of them stand close—too close for propriety, too close for anything but genuine affection. Felix leans lazily against Jeongins side, the man pretending he is only there because the food is, but Seungmin feels it. He feels both of them orbiting him like he is their safe place, just as they are his. He allows it—needs it—dare he say.

Felix nudges him with his shoulder. “So, Minnie. Which of these treats is better? The cinnamon roll or the shrimp?” He pretends to think, as if he has not had enough cinnamon in his lifetime. “Shrimp,” Seungmin declares almost immediately. Felix gasps like he has been slapped. “You traitor—”

“The cinnamon bite,” Jeongin interrupts, reaching for another. “Obviously.” Felix twirls toward him, delighted. “See, Innie has taste.”

“I do,” Jeongin says proudly. Then adds, without looking at Seungmin, “Most of the time.” Seungmin rolls his eyes. “Do shut up, we all know you only like the cinnamon anything because it smells like me.”

Jeongin pointedly ignores that last part of that sentence. “You shut up.”
“You are the one who threatened to poison me.”
“And I absolutely still might. I shall be merciful if you learn to stop bratting.”
“Come now, Innie. We are both all too well aware of the fact that you love it.”

From the crowd, a familiar presence approaches.
Slow, steady, unmistakably protective. Minho. His hand brushes the small of Seungmin’s back as he steps up next to him, entering Seungmin's safe little orbit of affection, grounding him without a word.

Seungmin’s whole face lights up, he bounces excitedly in his dress at the approach of his favorite person, smile growing so wide it could rival Felix’s. “Minho!” he chirps between them, Minho nods a collected greeting back at the prince, though he rubs a heavy, caring bit of sentiment into his lower back, before turning his attention to the other men.

“Felix, Jeongin. I do remember you two telling me you were only getting ‘a small bite’ and not devouring the entirety of the catering table.” The two laugh in unison, loudly and far too openly for such a publicly royal place, guilty as sin as they fall into each other. Minho chuckles once, attempting to not let his own hysterics get the best of him, unlike his lovely donseangs.

“I made them!” Felix defends.
“Yeah, he made them!” Jeongin added unhelpfully.

“If this was any other formal event, I am sure you would have both been kicked out by now.”
Felix bounds over to Minho, clinging onto his free arm, “Good thing it is our Minnie’s ball then. And it is not like we were going to be invited to any other formal event anyways outside of work.” He giggles.

There is an air of familiarity between the four of them, though Minho grew up visiting castles and grand ballrooms for his fathers work, everyone seeks out the kingdom's best jeweler and baker on occasion. Especially when you have a certain omega telling you how great they both were for years on in. The four of them are far past formalities.

Changbin lingers nearby, smiling and drinking with guests and guards as he pretends not to monitor Seungmin’s conversation and watch the movements of those nearby like a loyal knight. It is only a few minutes of the four of them being the loudest in the ballroom—accidentally choking on champagne and chocolate truffles—when two figures appear from within the parting crowd of people. A voice cuts cleanly through the chaos at the worst possible moment.

“Prince Seungmin.”

Jeongin freezes mid–shove of a dessert into Seungmin’s mouth. The omega sputters, nearly dying via pastry, while Jeongin frantically pats at his shoulders and Felix wheezes so hard he nearly collapses. Minho is laughing—quietly, uselessly, beautifully.

Standing before them are two devilishly handsome men with striking features.

The first is tall, long black hair cascading like ink along sharp marble cheekbones. He looks carved rather than born, the sort of prince who should only exist in gothic romances. His mouth twitches—he is clearly fighting the urge to join in their laughter.

The second is shorter, broader, warm dimples flashing as he watches Seungmin’s near-death. His humor is soft, immediate, disarming, like he was born amused by the world.

And worse—far worse—both bear the unmistakable insignias pinned to their attire.

Royalty. Two royal heirs from two different kingdoms, two sets of eyes fixed entirely upon Seungmin.

Seungmin’s panic nearly spikes, it would have undoubtedly if Seungmin cared even a little about impressing others with unrealistic appearances. The taller prince steps forward first, voice lovely like caramel.
“Forgive the interruption. I could not help but notice your sanctuary, here. You seem to be… enjoying yourselves.”

His gaze settles on Seungmin, and recognition blooms—quiet, startled, warm. Almost intimate. “I am Prince Hyunjin, from Kingdom Sapphire.”

Seungmin feels his breath catch. Prince Hyunjin. The handwriting, the cadence, the quiet yearning in every letter—there is no mistaking him. He has definitely grown up, it should be illegal how far away from his last portrait he has aged, Seungmin had not even recognized him.

Hyunjin bowed just low and respectful, eyes never leaving Seungmin’s face. “Forgive the intrusion. I believe we are… overdue for an introduction.”

Hyunjin of the immaculate handwriting, of the poetic metaphors, of every quiet confession tucked into envelopes that had made Seungmin’s heart ache in ways he could not admit aloud.

Hyunjin — his poetic admirer. And Hyunjin is more breathtaking in person than Seungmin’s imagination ever dared. “Hwang Hyunjin, from house Hwang.” Seungmin says, it is more of a statement than anything. The man smiles, flashing pearly teeth in a way that nearly makes Seungmin swoon, wow. He is really here, his writer.

An urge flashes—an instinct to grab Angwi, to whisper to her and tell her that he is real, Angwi, he is real and he is beautiful—before grief crashes over him. She is not here. She is fighting for her life in the medical ward as the hours pass.

Seungmin’s scent tightens with sorrow—subtle, barely-there, but Minho feels it instantly. A warm, steady palm once again presses to the small of his back, grounding him before he fractures. Minho does not know what happened tonight, but he knows Seungmin—and so he remains near, in wordless support.

Seungmin inhales, steadies, offers a trembling smile.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I—after so many letters—”

“Love letters,” Hyunjin corrects gently, unable to help himself. His smile widens, unbearably soft. “‘Twas not nearly enough though, to praise the amount of beauty you hold in person. I wished to write more, but…” His gaze sweeps reverently over Seungmin. “I feared courting too early would be improper. Now? I intend to participate fully.”

Gasps ripple outward. Heads turn. Seungmin feels the ballroom tilt beneath him, his world rearranging itself in an instant, even so, Hyunjin’s crescent shaped eyes never leave his face.

The ballroom seems to exhale around them.

Hyunjin—the poet, the dreamer, the first to directly confess interest—openly announces his desire to court Seungmin in front of friends, guests, allies, and eavesdroppers alike.

Oh, Seungmin thinks, dazed. What devotion. I like him. To make matters more exciting, Hyunjin has got a humble affection about him that makes his head swim.

For a suspended, unbearable breath, the world narrows to a point between them — recognition, curiosity, a flicker of something devastating. Seungmin is so winded does not even notice Felix sneak off into the crowd towards the orchestra.

The words hang in the air like a thrown gauntlet. A prince announcing his intention before witnesses—not whispered behind silk fans or slipped in letters, but declared boldly enough to echo through the hall.

The sweetness of the moment tangles with a sudden ache. Angwi should be here to witness this—his first admirer revealed, his first real step into a future she fought for. Seungmin’s chest tightens, pride and grief folding into one fragile breath.

Seungmin sways—just slightly, just enough for Minho’s hand to press firmer at his back, hold him stealingly by the waist. His heart stutters in response, and it does not go unnoticed how Hyunjin’s eyes flicker to Minho’s hand at his middle. The grounding touch keeps him from floating away—or crumbling down—entirely.

A prince plans to court him, and has declared it openly for everyone to hear.

His ears ring, and he cannot tell if it is from the champagne or the sheer audacity of Hyunjin’s devotion.

Hyunjin’s gaze softens — not merely kind, but reverent, as though Seungmin were something holy and freshly discovered. His gloved hand lifts slightly, hovering near Seungmin’s own as though requesting permission to close the distance.

“May I say,” Hyunjin murmurs, voice low enough for only the two of them to hear, “you are even lovelier than your portraits suggested. I am honored beyond words to finally—”

“Seungminnie!” The omega knows only two other people outside of this orbit that he is on non formal terms with, he smiles.

And the spell shatters like dropped crystal.

Jisung crashes into the circle with all the grace of a startled woodland creature, nearly tripping over the hem of his own coat, clutching a half-eaten tart in one hand. His curls are wild, his eyes too bright, his smile an utter menace.

“I have been looking everywhere for you after our duet,” he announces, beaming. “Felix told me you had suffocated on a truffle and I came to save you, but apparently you lived, thank the gods—”

Felix wheezes where he is behind the musician. Minho and Jeongin stand to Seungmin’s right, raiding the dessert table again. Hyunjin’s eyes go flat as polished obsidian.

Seungmin’s heart, traitor that it is, leaps. Jisung’s chaotic devotion always does that to him — sends a spark of warmth through his ribs, something fond and painfully alive.

Jisung spots Hyunjin, looks him directly in the eyes with a wide, animal gaze and says, “Oh. Hello there. Did not see you there—fancy vampire resembling lad.”

Hyunjin blinks, a noise of surprise chirping from his throat as his eyes grow wide. “I beg your pardon?”

“Master Jisung!” The omega scolds. “He does not mean that,” Seungmin hisses, mortified. “Yes, I do,” Jisung says cheerfully. “You scared me. You look like you would monologue about eternal love on a balcony.”

Felix crumples into Jisung’s shoulder, laughing so hard he cannot breathe. Hyunjin inhales, slow, controlled, aristocratic fury simmering beneath the surface. “I was introducing myself.”

“So was I,” Jisung replies. “Just… with charisma. Reintroducing, that is. I have so missed my belle while I was busy tending to the music, making sure everything was going swell” he holds Seungmin’s hand in his again, kissing up his palm and arm once again. Though Seungmin mocks him, he cannot help but smile, allowing it, again. It is lovely, the man’s dramatic solace.

“That is not charisma, you fool.”

“Well!” Jisung tuts, swiping Felix’s drink for himself. “It is to me,” he argues. Hyunjin’s jaw flexes. “Prince Hyunjin of Sapphire. And you are?..”

“Master Han Jisung,” he chirps. “Of… my mother. And the orchestra, I am the best at my craft, I am sure you bear resemblance in your field of.. eh.. wearing crowns and things of that sort. I do so value musical talents, so I am afraid I am unaware of what it is you do that is interesting.”

Jeongin does not even attempt to hide his laugh of entertainment. Nor do Minho and Felix. Even Seungmin is fighting a smile — Jisung’s disarming earnestness tugging him straight out of his swoon.

Hyunjin tries again, “I was, in fact, engaged in rather important conversa—”

“So was I,” Jisung chirps, louder, stepping just slightly closer to Seungmin. And the implication is unmistakable.

Hyunjin’s eyes narrow. “Are you attempting to interrupt?” The master does not miss a beat. “No,” Jisung says sweetly. “I am succeeding.” It is so tense one could slice the air with a dessert fork, which Jeongin uses to feed himself strawberries from his plate as he looks back and forth between Jisung and the prince. “I was in fact the first to declare my devotion for the prince, in the end, I am afraid it will be me winning his hand.”

Seungmin’s heart skips a beat, he only then remembers how the Maestro had hinted at his devotion during their lessons. Though it would have been inappropriate to directly confess courting before his ball, Seungmin could recognize the look and lueur in his gaze.

Before Hyunjin can fire back another elegant, razor-edged retort, a warm voice cuts through the rising storm.

“Gentlemen,” the broader prince says, stepping forward with a dimpled smile that could calm kingdoms. “Perhaps we should introduce ourselves properly.” He bows. “I am Prince Christopher Banhg, though most call me Chan. I was not given a head start on courting, but I too wish to get to know the infamous Kim-Suu Prince this season. I was offered a room by the queen to stay here in attempt to mend the political matters and possibly come to a negotiation on the war, as well as allow me to court you. But I do so wish to become familiar with you outside of politics as well.”

Seungmin smiles, nodding, attempting to not stare at the man’s large, vascular hands when he takes Seungmin’s gloved digits in his hold, kissing the back of his palm once. Jisung audibly scoffs, muttering something under his breath that sounds comically similar to the word “Copy cat.” The omega barely manages a bow before the shift in atmosphere slams through the group like a rock.

The two princes jump apart when Changbin—who had been lingering nearby—suddenly steps forward. Slow, heavy, and intentional. His gaze sweeps the royal insignias on Chan’s chest — recognition like steel sharpening behind his eyes. The tension in his shoulders coils tight, protective, loud.

Minho shifts at the change in atmosphere beside Seungmin. “Uh oh.” He hears the dancer say with amused tone, Seungmin swats at his arm for being an instigator. Jeongin has not stopped with his dramatic looking back and forth between men, now Prince Chris and Lieutenant Seo.

Chan notices it—still—his smile remains gentle, diplomatic, though his movements visibly tense. Changbin inclines his head just enough to be polite, though every line of his stance screams on guard. Distrust. The air thickens.

Hyunjin and Jisung have paused their bickering only because the political storm rolling off Changbin is louder, his marshmallow scent outweighing any stereotype that says beta pheromones are weak. In the moment, Seungmin feels every eye swivel back to him.

And the ballroom, once full of laughter, now waits — breathless — for whatever he will do next. Changbin’s posture is a wall of stone, broad, braced, protective to the point of danger. His gaze stays locked on Chan’s broach like it is a weapon rather than an ornament.

Seungmin feels it at once, the shift, the danger. Now it is up to him to derail it, to fix this silent battle of the kingdoms before it creates something much bigger. The war was put on pause for one evening, his evening. What negotiations his aunt had to make in order to allow prince Chan’s courting announcement manageable is beyond him, and it always will be if he cannot tame the tension that makes it so Lieutenant Seo’s hand rests on the hilt of his sword.

Changbin’s sweet scent is no longer gentle and flexible. It is burning, and his distrust will cause more trouble tonight then he means to. Seungmin has to be quick. He has only formally met Changbin tonight, a beta who was allowed to become a soldier only after Queen Raveena had taken ruling, allowing all subgenders and genders to work in whatever field they desired.

So who does know him? What has he learned about the beta? Anything, anything, Suengmin thinks.

Just then, a memory lights up Seungmin’s consciousness, the face that comes into play when he does makes his chest hurt, his aching heart reminded once again of what he went through tonight.

“Where did you learn to defend like that? I am not a subcist, of course. But it is rare an omega, a female omega at that, is allowed to be taught to fight.” Seungmin had said while his bondmaid gently worked a brush through his hair. It covers his nape and brows now, the omega having taken to not cutting it after Felix said it made him look like a pretty puppy, and Angwi agreed.

“Well sugar, not all of us grew up in the Diamond Kingdom. Me and my big cousin took a real long journey to get here, my Aunt Tina taught me boxin’ back then, and mixed martial arts. We ain’t have nowhere to go when we got here, but right before that time, Queen Raveena took the throne, and the first omegan Lieutenant was commandin’.”

Seungmin watches the women with parted lips in the mirror, listening to Angwi’s stories from her experiences is always a journey through another world. Seungmin grew up in an orphanage, even so, his years at the bottom of the social chain were still not nearly as intriguing.

“Long story short, me and my cousin stayed with her. She trained both of us, sharpened our defense skills, and when you ain’t noble you learn housemakin’ skills all on ya lonesome. My big cousin got a job with your mama some years down the line, as her bondmaid. And I, got a job as yours, years later.” she explains, pinching Seungmin’s waist, who squirms away, smiling.

“But when we got there, she lived with somebody. A beta son, Binne was my best friend for a long time. Now, you both are. She was trainin’ him just like she was us. I would love for y’all to meet some day, he’d make a good husband for you. Strong, handsome, sweet. He’s a Lieutenant na, and that was about the only thing he ever took seriously. Other then that, you’d thank him an omega by how easy it is to make him giggle, he’s allergic to almost everythang, but he’s a strong man.”

Seungmin, curious, tries to imagine him. Angwi growing up with an older, male beta who helped her shape her strong resolve and combat skills. He must have been wonderful if he was anything like the women.

“Big eater, he loves everything, except Kingdom Ruby ‘course, god forbid he ever meet the Banhg family outside of the battlefield, cause he certainly can’t meet em on it. When his mama told him about the Banhg family not fighting alongside their army, he was appalled. Cause Queen Raveena has always been willing to take the battlefield wit her people. The Ruby kingdom ain't as wise.”

Seungmin suppresses a gasp, his hand finding Changbin’s shoulder as the past conversation clicks something into place within the omegas head. “Come now, Binne.” Suengmin hums, weaponizing Angwi’s nickname quickly, strategically. Maybe reminding him of who fought for this evening will help him realize that there has been enough bloodshed tonight.

“You are crushing your cup. And when there is so much more to fill it with.” he prompts, rubbing the man's back gently. Changbin glances down. The metal is indeed bending under his grip. Embarrassment flickers across his face — brief, he scoffs a laugh, giving the omega an apologetic look.

Seungmin plucks a fresh drink from a passing tray and presses it into Changbin’s hand himself, working the other from his hold with soft touches. Changbin lets him, takes a long sip. Even so, his gaze finds Prince Chans over the edge of the dish.

Seungmin steps a little closer, rubbing his hands up and down his biceps as he talks loud enough for them all to hear. “Come now, you have been so occupied you have not even tried any of the desserts, this is a cherry crunch bite, it is delicious, yes?”

Seungmin glances at Minho, Felix and Jeongin for assistance, who all nod and hum in agreement. “The dumpling bites are great too! I made them, so it is I who you should be thanking for such a sweet spread.” he smiles, raising a brow suggestively as he pushes his long blonde hair behind his ear, no doubt using flirting as a deterrent, so very Felix of him.

Minho slaps his butt in reprimand, the other omega yelps, laughing as he knocks his shoulder into the alphas. Hyunjin and Chan watch in curious interest with charming smiles, the taller prince dissolving into obnoxious, high pitched laughter that he attempts to suppress, which makes all of them laugh along with him.

“Goodness, this is good!” Comes Changbins voice suddenly, he is holding two separate appetizers in each hand, Seungmin laughs, his heart doing a little stutter at the mans excitement, how quickly his attitude was shattered once food was added to the equation. He suddenly realizes why it is the man had only given brief glances to the buffet tables instead of indulging.

“Yes! See, I told you. Have some more wine, my Aunt said it has been aged for many years.” Changbin nods, a smile now coming into play, the atmosphere immediately lifts when they all spot it, and Seungmin could truthfully not be more grateful for Angwi’s good conversation then in this moment. Who knew their late night chronicles would assist the omega at his introduction into society, and in such a grave situation no less.

“Oh! This ones a little spicy!” Changbins voice booms, no longer low and venomous, but loud and playful. “Spicy?” Minho arches an eyebrow, blinking a couple cat like times before Changin picks up the tray, offering it to the alpha. Minho plucks one, popping it into his mouth and chewing without hesitation.

There is an approving nod, before he and Felix dive into the trey, Jeongin at the table next to Changbin, instead investing himself in the chocolate covered strawberries.

Seungmin does a little excited stomp, opening his mouth when he picks up a particularly large one. Jeongin rolls his eyes before feeding it to the younger without hesitation, feigning irritation with his unimpressed facial expression. “I want some wine!” Jisung says cheerfully, nearly chasing down one of the staff with a tray of said alcohol before he rejoins the group, three cups in hand. He hands two of them to the princes, who look at him with surprise, like he has handed them a bomb instead of a beverage.

“Oh–” Hyunjin says, making a face. “No thank you, Maestro Han. We are royalty, we have an image to uphold. We should not–”
“Oh geez, lighten up! Everyone is drinking and eating and you guys have the most privilege, yet somehow you are the stiffest in the room. Have some flexibility, man. I mean– Princes.” he smiles, gummy smile on display as he does a little silly dance, sipping from his own cup.

Both princes seem hesitant, looking at one another to see what the other will do. Jisung keeps up his miniature shimmy, Seungmin turns, laughing at the musician, before joining him as he is overcome with joy, despite the invisible weight on his shoulders. Once again, Jisung does a wonderful job at helping lift it.

“Your Highnesses,” Jisung announces, sweeping his arms wide, “as your humble maestro and your future favorite royal pain in the ass.” he pauses and turns to Seungmin to wink and make kissy lips, the omega laughing at the beta’s boldness, hiding behind his own cup. “I invite you to partake in—” A dramatic pause. A wiggle of his brows.
“—the sacred beverage of the night.”

Felix lifts his cup and gasps theatrically. “Oh heavens. Whatever will they do?” he fakes compassion, popping a berry into his mouth from one of the bowls. Slowly, at a growing pace. he begins chanting under his breath. “Chug, chug, chug” in sync with Jisung, who is still doing his stupid little dance with Seungmin.

Seungmin bursts into laughter and jumps into the chant, clapping off-beat just to make Jisung whine. Jeongin slaps the table in rhythm, delighted and chaotic. Their circle’s noise swells. Heads turn. Attention is drawn, and the pair of princes look so close to giving in, even with all the eyes on them. Christopher is the first to surrender, shaking his head as he fails at suppressing his wide, dimpled smile.

“Bloody hell…” he mutters, accent curling so hard the group gasps like it is a sin. Then “—fuck it.” he curses, throwing the entire cup back and chugging it down in a solid four seconds. “YES!”
“GOOO.”

Felix twirls. Jisung throws his arms in the air. Seungmin’s smile could power the palace. Chan finishes with a wince so dramatic it borders on theatrical. “Oh— gods,” he coughs out, eyes watering. “Yes. Right. That is… that is very old wine.”

The accent hits Seungmin like a blow to the chest — warm, deep, familiar in a way he cannot place. Something like Felix’s, something unfairly charming. His heavy heart swoops dramatically. Hyunjin, not to be shown up, scoffs. “Please, if you did it cannot be that hard—give me that.” he says, snatching the cup back from Jisung.

It lasts approximately three seconds before he sputters violently.

Chan claps him on the back, beaming. “Steady, Jinnie.” he laughs. Hyunjin, red-faced and coughing, waves them off. “I am—fine— I am fine, never again, gods—”
Jeongin immediately hands him another, and Hyunjin glares at him, only for it to soften as quickly as it came once they land on the others face. Seungmin struggles to identified the emotion, and it comes and goes all too fast for him to dwell on it.

Minho and Changbin simply watch, leaning against the table like hungry chaperones, both committed to devouring the entire tray of spicy snacks. Changbin is nodding with watery eyes, sniffling as he chews.

“The Prince of Kingdom Ruby cannot handle a bit of alcohol? Disappointing." Minho teases, smirking like a mischievous cat. “Hey! Do not mock me, where I am from, we are not allowed alcohol until we are twenty and one. With how often people drink it, you would think it tastes better!”

Hyunjin complains loudly, openly, bratting just a bit in a way that is similar to Seungmin when he is feeling childish. So very dramatic, so very charming. Seungmin, as well as the rest of them laugh, carefree as an unborn child.

Well, that goes for everyone except Seungmin himself.

Even as the hours draw on, Seungmin politely rejecting those who approach him to dance or make new conversation to stay in this small sanctuary he has found, Felix and Jisung making up words to the music the orchestra is playing, Hyunjin making loud conversation with Jeongin and Changbin, Minho and Chan having polite conversation about pastries, and ball affairs, something feels wrong.

Seungmin knows exactly what it is, he knows where it hurts, why it hurts. He struggles to stay involved with the groups conversation and dramatics as his intoxicated mind swirls, and he suddenly cannot take his mind away from the image of red poisoning a pink gown, the warmth and iron smell of life on his royal robes and hands. The sinking feeling that it still covers his skin even after his staff had taken their time wiping him down and spraying him with perfume.

Suengmin knows that being a royal, even adopted, will only make his life harder after his introduction into society. But he cannot help but feel as if it does not get worse then coming so close to losing his best friend, someone who had done so much to make sure the show went on.

Seungmin’s breath hits him, the tightness in his chest pulls, and suddenly the weight of tonights events has its jaws over the omegas jugular. Too much warmth, too much laughter, too many eyes on him, too many intentions simmering in the air while someone he cares struggles to hold onto life. That is, if it has not already slipped from her grasp.

No, Seungmin thinks. He cannot think about that. Angwi is strong, she can and will push through. But can Seungmin?

Slowly, as the moments pass, anxiety breaches the omegas scent. His presence gives out as he stares into his wine, zoning out when his eyes soften at the edges. Something akin to terror makes the man grip his cup.

A faint tremor runs through his hand, and that is all it takes.
It is so subtle that most miss it—Jisung too busy singing dramatically off-key with Felix, Jeongin stuffing strawberries into his mouth, Changbin warring with the spicy snacks.

But not Hyunjin.
And not Minho.

Minho’s gaze finds its way back to Seungmin’s face, the alpha’s senses processing his familiar scent long before anyone else. Hyunjin’s words to Chan die mid-sentence, his gaze snapping toward Seungmin like a predator scenting fear. The princes do not speak yet—but their sudden attention tightens the air.

And Seungmin, lost in the swell of dread and wine and memory, does not even realize they are watching him.

“My prince?” Hyunjin calls. Nothing. When he does not receive an answer, the noise of the other men dies out quickly, their silence without the omegas notice unaccounted for in his racing mind. “Prince Seungmin.” Hyunjin tries again, quickly, Changbin begins to clean off his hands, observing the omega, Minho is quicker.

He is back by his side in less than a moment, faster than you can say the words 'crystal dagger.’

A hand finds Seungmin’s waist again, he rubs secure circles on his corset crushed torso, leaning into his ear when they get no response. “Seungminnie.” he whispers, softly at first. The boys get antsy, crowding in the longer they go without a response, and Minho loses patience. “Kim Seungmin.” he says — firmer, louder — jolting the omega back to the present.

He blinks, puppy like, swaying as if ready to lose his balance. Minho steadies him with a strong arm, looking at him with a gaze so serious it could rival Queen Raveena, Jisung is the first to speak. “My belle, are you alright?” he asks, eyes wide with worry.

Seungmin glances around at the group of men, attempting to take a deep breath that does not help him ease the feeling of stone in his chest. “Oh– of course.” he breaths, exhaling, as if preparing to lie through his teeth. “Of course. I am afraid I am a little out of it, it is nothing. I think I am just.. Slightly intoxicated. Please, do not worry yourselves.”

Though he attempts to reassure the lot of them, no ones worried expression wavers, their eyes going to the way Seungmin’s right hand comes up to wrap over Minho’s shoulders, a reflexive action. As much as he wants to seem okay, he still feels like his world is tumbling on its access, and Minho is the only grounding mass he has.

The dancer does not miss the tremble in his body, or the tightness at which Seungmin clings to him when he tries to pull his hand away. It is not on purpose, but Seungmin fears he is only a moment from collapsing onto the marble of the ballroom if Minho decides to stray too far.

Hyunjin’s gaze does not leave him. The taller prince steps closer, voice gentling, almost reverent. “Prince Seungmin… I—” He pauses, searching, softening. “Your scent… it is… tense. Forgive me, but…Earlier, when you were changing, when you arrived, there was something there… Lethal, or– painful one might say… Are you… alright? Did something happen?”

Seungmin freezes, the question piercing through the haze, catching him off-guard in a way no one else’s concern has. His chest tightens, but there is something comforting in the attention, the awareness of someone seeing past the mask he has tried so desperately to maintain. Minho senses it too, shifting slightly, squeezing his waist in silent support, letting the omega know he is safe.

He looks to Changbin, who is once again lingering nearby, giving them omega as much space as he can without seemingly hovering, or straying too far. He nods once at Seungmin, giving a firm hum in recognition. An action that tells him he can if he wants to, but that he does not have to. That he has his back either way.

Seungmin swallows, fighting the swell of emotion threatening to rise, and finally nods faintly. “Very well, Prince Hyunjin.” he says, swallowing down the bile he can feel climbing his throat like a lump. Seungmin has been through a lot tonight, and if his troubles are going to be heard eventually, he would rather get behind it before anyone else.

“Maestro Han, Prince Chan, Prince Hyunjin, Lix, Innie, Minho.” he nearly melts as he says the last three names, the familiarity and love at which they look at him make his heart hum harmonies. “Since it is apparent that there is something more to the story tonight, and the kingdoms ears hear all, I find it wise to give you the truth before anyone else was.”

“I also think that the seven of you, if anyone, are more worthy of hearing it first. So do follow along. The bravery and devotion it took to approach me tonight is worthy of my truth, of our truth.” he announces, loud enough for the surrounding crowd to follow along, though he addresses no one but the men in front of him.

The sound seems to drain from the ballroom, leaving only the thrum of candleflame and the unsteady beat of Seungmin’s own pulse.

Their faces blur—Felix, Jisung, Hyunjin—all leaning in with a reverence that makes his breath catch. He steadies himself on Minho’s arm and lets the truth slip free in a voice soft enough to shatter.

“There was an.. attempt on my life tonight.”

Scents detonate in a thick, territorial surge as gasps rack through the ballroom. The crowd becomes rowdy, turning to one another in disbelief and appalled horror. It all happens so quickly, the pheromones hit like a tsunami. Not his.
Theirs.

Seven surges at once—shock, fear, fury, protectiveness—thick enough to vibrate the air. Honey, Seungmin’s gaze turns to the blonde, he looks heartbroken, furious, clinging to Jeongin’s sleeve like a lifeline.

Guilt courses through expired marshmallows, maybe out of concern for having not arrived on time, maybe out of concern for worry, either way, whatever it is seems to be eating Lieutenant Seo alive, his face stoney, and scent alive with protective emotions. But it is not just him.

Minho’s dark chocolate, Jeongin’s poundcake, Maestro Jisung’s cherries, and two less familiar scents that seem to be coming from the princes—lavender and rainstorms—fitting for royalty. Seungmin so loves storms, almost as much as he loves lavender, the combined scents make his legs wobble when they hit him.

Omegas senses are more delicate in crowds, so naturally, Felix loses his balance first from the impact—Jeongin catching his staggering figure—and Seungmin follows moments later. His legs nearly give out from beneath him, before a strong arm wraps itself around Seungmin’s waist, keeping him upright.

“Hey, breath, Seungminnie. I am right here. Tell us what happened.” Minho whispers to him, the omega can barely see thanks to the swarm of strong scents, let alone think enough to explain what happened, but he said he would tell them, so he pushes on.

When his vision clears enough for him to see again, Changbin is at his left, Prince Chan is trying to cool Felix down with his hand fan, and Jisung and Jeongin hold the blonde upright, as to not let him hit the floor. Suengmin is more than grateful for the care that is being shown in the group, even though omegan drunken drops are considered common everywhere.

“I.. this morning, there was commotion in the kitchen with Felix. I was forced to fire a staff member in front of everyone due to him being adamant on repeatedly disrespecting omegas and betas for simply not being alpha’s. I was naive to expect that he would walk away easily when I had wounded his pride so. During the hiatus meant to be for changing my gown, he attacked my seamstress, ruining my original outfit. Then he attacked me.”

A horrified murmur blooms through the space—loud, sharp, the kind that cuts through even the drunken din of the ballroom. Minho’s grip on his waist tightens almost imperceptibly, fingers flexing as if he needs the physical reminder that Seungmin is here, alive, breathing against him.

Hyunjin’s face drains of color before flushing red, the rise of his scent sharp and furious, something bright and noble twisted into something dangerous. Prince Chan’s fan slows, then stops altogether, his eyes lifting from Felix’s weak form to Seungmin with a severity that only someone born into power could wield.

But none of them interrupt.

They stand suspended in a kind of collective stillness—braced, waiting, holding their breath as if the wrong sound might cause him to splinter. Their eyes never leave him.

“I am unharmed now,” Seungmin begins, voice steadier than he feels, “but only because of the strength and swiftness of my bondmaid, Angwi Bluu. She is underestimated by many for being an omegan girl—a servant, a foreigner, a woman.”

A faint tremor touches his fingertips.

“But though she is one year younger than me, she fought a man twice her size… and she won. On my behalf.”

The air is filled with hushed reactions from all directions.

Not just noise—reaction, concern. A shocked inhale here, a sharp whisper there, the rustle of jewelry and shuffle of shoes as the kingdom shifts in disbelief. Even the candles seem to gutter at the revelation, their flames bowing as though the room itself recoils from the truth.

Yet within the seven men surrounding him, there is no chaos, no chatter.

Only a tightening of jaws, a darkening of eyes, the palpable rise of protective pheromones curling like smoke.

None of them speak.

They only wait—still, focused, reverent—offering him the silent permission to continue, as though his words are scripture and they are sworn to witness every syllable.

“I escaped unscathed only because of her strength, her loyalty, her power. And though she was victorious..” Seungmin’s voice breaks, giving out, the spots on his hands her blood had touched flash hot, and the image of her lying limp in Changbin’s arms haunts the omegas mind once again.

He whimpers quietly as he attempts to regain his voice, and Minho’s hand rubs comfortingly on the lower centre of his back, a tender action that rivals the expression of bloodlust on his face, the aggression in his pheromones despite his attempt to collect himself and make his dark chocolate comforting.

The men around him stand so frozen in time, they might as well have been carved from stone. Rage rolls off them in waves so thick Seungmin feels dizzy again, though he forces himself to continue, needing to get the truth out before the room—before he—breaks apart entirely.

“Despite my disobedience, my spirit, my hesitance to be a good, stereotypical omega for those who feel the role fit for me, she saved me. I mean something to that woman, and she means something to me. Tonight, she told me the best thing that I could do for her was enjoy this event, and to shine despite the complications. I listened because they were her wishes, but I do not even know if she survived the stab wound that despicable man inflicted on her. She is wonderful, she deserves to live. She should be here, raising wine glasses and chatting, carefree as the night breeze. But she is not. And it kills me knowing I cannot do anything more.”

Minho’s chest rises against his side, slow and deep, a deliberate attempt to steady the… everything of this moment. His hand rubs a slow, anchoring circle against Seungmin’s ribs, quiet but grounding, gentle but never once tentative.

The others look moments away from losing control entirely—eyes bright, jaws locked, scents crackling with the kind of alpha energy that could bring the ballroom to its knees if they stopped holding back. Even Prince Chan looks ready to overturn tables. Hyunjin is trembling, barely contained, lavender storm-dark and lethal.

And yet—none of them step away.
None of them look away.
None of them leave him to bear the weight alone.

“I am the illegitimate, undisciplined, defiant, adopted prince of the Diamond Kingdom. But I have a heart too, just like everyone else here. So no—prince Hyunjin—I am not at ease tonight. Because someone I care about is fighting for their life as we speak. So if her wish is for me to shine, I shall shine. I shall sparkle.”

It is silent, for a long, intense moment for thought. Suddenly, Prince Chan steps forward, his gaze intelligent and calculating, eyes narrow, and his rainy scent more of a hurricane than gentle padding as it had been earlier.

“I regret that such a world had ever hurt you, so I must ask. Who troubles you so, my prince? I shall have his head.” A growl surfaces from the mans throat, and this time when Suengmin’s legs nearly give out, it is not only because of overwhelming aromas.

His heart picks up pace at the declaration, and the omega almost wishes his the bastard was alive so he could watch sweet, polite Prince Christopher send his skull rolling.

“No need, Prince Chan. I am more than honored to tell you that Angwi ended his life during their quarrel, his assault is no longer a threat.” Seungmin watches in amusement as chatter spreads through the space again, and the alphas ears and neck turn red. “Very well, I am just happy you are okay.” He ducks once before turning and making his way back to his designated spot near Hyunjin.

“Prince Seungmin, I am so sorry you had to go through that. I shall hope to thank Bondmaid Bluu personally some day soon for protecting you.” Hyunjin is the next to bow, maintaining the distance between himself and the omega, simply respecting his space.

Seungmin glances to where Jisung, Jeongin and Felix stand, looking uneasy, his attention directed to his fellow omega first. “Felix, what is wrong?” he asks the other in the mans mother tongue, a comfort that always seems to soothe him in troubling times.

“Nothing, you just—gave us a scare is all, Minnie. I do not know what I would do without you. I do not even want to imagine a world without you in it.”
“What he said.” Jeongin agrees.

Seungmin’s chest tightens, his stomach dances, and his heart feels as if it is going to beat out of his chest. The other omega was always a sweet talker, Jeongin silently affectionate, Seungmin forever guesses that such a fact stands because he is also a sweetheart.

“Lix, Innie. I am okay. Tonight is about celebration, new beginnings, shining. I just thought it appropriate that the bravest of the bunch as well as my family of many years know the truth. Let us move on, and take my second chance by the balls, yes?”

The room is overcomes with soft, easing laughter. The tension of the story is diluted by it, and Seungmin trembles no more, though his heart still aches for his dear friend.

“Of course, my pretty Prince. Anything for you. I too need to thank Angwi when given the chance, you are so precious to me.” Felix manages to straighten, closing the distance between himself and his fellow omega as he pulls him into a hug, arms tight around his middle and chin hooked over his shoulder. He by default hugs Minho as well, because the alpha is plastered to his side like material on a flag pole.

Seungmin embraces him immediately, allowing himself to melt into the blondes hold. The room softens around them. Scents settle. Conversations resume. Music swells as if the orchestra had been holding its breath with them.

For a fleeting while, Seungmin allows himself the illusion of safety—of normalcy—basking in the warmth of arms that have held him through home and heartbreak, through sunshine and storm. Just then—the air shifts. Not with pheromones. Not with fear, but with attention.

Rippling through the ballroom in a widening hush, gazes begin to tilt upward one by one, like a wave cresting toward the shore. Even Prince Christpher pauses mid-step, brows knitting before his eyes snap to the grand balcony overlooking the hall.

Seungmin pulls back from Felix, breath catching as he follows the direction of the spreading stares. Hovering above the sweeping staircase—framed by the glow of chandelier light—stands Angwi Bluu.

Alive.

Pale as winter cream—yes, so different from her normal, alive caramel brown. She is wrapped tightly in gleaming, red tinted medical bandages that peak out between her top and skirt, one arm pressed against her ribs as though holding herself together—but standing. Upright. Defiant. Her chin lifted in a quiet, unwavering line of dignity. Changbin stands near, hesitant when Angwi repeatedly waves him off, refusing to held up. Seungmin had been so focused on not crying he had not realized the man had snuck away.

A low gasp sweeps the hall like a breeze through tall grass. Whispers of ‘that is her!’ and ‘it is bondmaid Bluu’ ripple through the crowd, the staff, the kingdom, and the young womans gaze finds Seungmin instantly. Soft. Proud. Exhausted. And terrifyingly, beautifully alive.

Seungmin’s throat closes. His knees nearly buckle for the third time tonight, wobbling beneath his gown

He steps forward before he realizes he is moving, breath shattering in his chest. But before a single word leaves him, Prince Christopher of the Ruby Kingdom moves first. And he does not nod, or simply shake his head, or even speak.

He bows.

Low. Deep, kneeling. With every ounce of reverence a future king can offer. Hyunjin follows—no hesitation, no decorum, dropping into a sweeping, elegant bow that sends whispers slicing through the crowd.

Then Felix, Jisung, Jeongin. Minho bows last of the seven, slow and sharp and protective, his dark chocolate scent cutting through the stunned air like velvet steel. Then—
as if the kingdom remembers its manners—the entire ballroom follows.

Dozens. Hundreds. Every member of staff, noble, every alpha, every beta, every omega. Bending. Lowering. Honoring. A tide of bodies bowing toward a single, trembling girl holding herself together with nothing but tight bandages, pride and stubborn survival.

Angwi sways once, grip tightening on the railing as her eyes widen in shock. But she stands taller. For him, and for herself. For the truth Seungmin voiced in blood and light. Seungmin raises his head, vision blurring, heart breaking open in his chest as the world bows to the girl who saved his life.

Tonight, the Diamond Kingdom shines for many things—but its final, brightest star is an omegan girl who will henceforth be known because she fought for a legend, like a legend.

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MinnieKou on Chapter 1 Thu 13 Nov 2025 05:01PM UTC

I haven't read it yet, but three chapters in one go is crazy work, girl!!
How are we so lucky to have you in the seunguniverse!!
I’m going to start reading aaaaaah
YOU GO GIRL

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1. princessrkive on Chapter 1 Fri 14 Nov 2025 03:14AM UTC
  
  THANK YOU POOKIEEEEEE MWAH MWAH 🎀🩷
  
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2Jelly_fish2 on Chapter 1 Thu 13 Nov 2025 08:38PM UTC

Pookieee you’re spoiling us with so many fic! 🎀🎀🩷🩷

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1. princessrkive on Chapter 1 Fri 14 Nov 2025 03:14AM UTC
  
  I HAVE TOO, I LOVE MY READERS! 🎀
  
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Kkodzzu on Chapter 1 Fri 14 Nov 2025 01:36PM UTC

I loved the first chapter so much, I'm sure I'll be thrilled with more!! Thank you for your efforts, you're great❤️‍🩹
I'm reading through a translator and I'm a bit confused. How old is Seungmin?

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1. princessrkive on Chapter 1 Sat 15 Nov 2025 11:26AM UTC
  
  Nineteen!!! Thanks for reading!! 🎀
  
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HappinessOnTheSameEarth on Chapter 1 Tue 25 Nov 2025 11:19AM UTC

Woah this is interesting!!

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1. princessrkive on Chapter 1 Thu 27 Nov 2025 01:57AM UTC
  
  THANK YOU THANK YOU🥰
  
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Moon_Clout on Chapter 3 Mon 24 Nov 2025 07:29AM UTC

I LOVE IT SO FAR AGGHHHHH

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1. princessrkive on Chapter 3 Mon 24 Nov 2025 07:50AM UTC
  
  MWAH MWAH THANK YOU 🎀
  
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lifeiscool on Chapter 3 Mon 24 Nov 2025 09:31PM UTC

the wiritng is so beautiful I love it <3

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stqlk on Chapter 4 Sat 22 Nov 2025 03:17AM UTC

this chapter was so good !! the story is super interesting so far and i love your writing 🥹🥹

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1. princessrkive on Chapter 4 Sat 22 Nov 2025 05:12PM UTC
  
  Thank youuuu! 🥰
  
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CatLover404 on Chapter 4 Sat 22 Nov 2025 05:55AM UTC

I LOVE Angwi, favorite person. So supportive and adorable. Also I hope Lady Kendra learns her lessons, but for some reason I think she's connected to the unknown alpha? Definitely since she made fun of the color. Either way I'm very curious about that person. I'm excited to see what happens next and see how everyone connects/reacts to each other.

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1. princessrkive on Chapter 4 Sat 22 Nov 2025 05:24PM UTC
  
  👀EXCITED TO PUBLISH IT FOR YOU, MWAH, thanks for reading 🎀🥰
  
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the_cornsalad on Chapter 4 Sat 22 Nov 2025 07:20AM UTC

Ahhhh I’m loving this smmm!!!!

Your writing is always refreshing. I never have to worry about getting bored

Also idk what made you feel like this story wasn’t loved. I’ve just been too busy to leave comments. I’m here now and I’ll tell u in every chapter that I love it!! Keep updating 🫶

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1. princessrkive on Chapter 4 Sat 22 Nov 2025 05:22PM UTC
  
  MWAH MWAH MWAHMWAB I LUB YOU 🎀🩷🥰
  
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2. 1. the_cornsalad on Chapter 4 Sat 22 Nov 2025 09:19PM UTC
    
    Me too, threee, four 😋✨
    
    Also where is the mood board 😭 I can’t find it, I need to check out cotton candy skies ☹️
    
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  2. 1. the_cornsalad on Chapter 4 Sat 22 Nov 2025 09:29PM UTC
      
      Ok so my critical thinking kicked in and I realised it’s linked in carnal, carnage & in some comment section I had replied in.
      
      So, yay I found the mood board but no cotton candy skies ☹️☹️ does it not have one or am I just blind (in my defence it’s 3am rn)
      
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    2. 1. princessrkive on Chapter 4 Sat 22 Nov 2025 10:53PM UTC
        
        FUCKKK I SWEAR I LINKED IT https://pin.it/6l8o2cTk4
        
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      2. princessrkive on Chapter 4 Sat 22 Nov 2025 10:55PM UTC
        
        AND FOR DAUNTLESS CHP 4 I HAVE YET TO MAKE A MOOD BOARD LOLLL I FINISHED WRITING THE CHAPTER A WHILE AGO SO I HAD FORGOTTEN SINCE I DIDNT POST IT WHEN IT WAS DONE LOL
        
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      3. the_cornsalad on Chapter 4 Sun 23 Nov 2025 07:03AM UTC
        
        Ahhhh i that one picture for cotton candy skiessss is so cute. It’s my new wallpaper 😋😋
        
        Also yes I shall look forward to the dauntless one :))
        
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MinnieKou on Chapter 4 Sat 22 Nov 2025 05:16PM UTC

How wouldn’t we love this story?! All you write is amazing!!
Thank you for giving us this story and new chapter 💕
I’m looking forward to mooooore!

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1. princessrkive on Chapter 4 Sat 22 Nov 2025 05:21PM UTC
  
  AHHH THANK YOU; I APPRECIATE YOU SO BAD IT JUST WASN’T GETTING A LOT OF INTERACTIONS SO I THOUGHT MY WORLDBUILDING AND PLOTTING WAS ALL FOR NOT 🎀😭
  
  THANKS FOR READING
  
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Sonna_demon10 on Chapter 4 Sun 23 Nov 2025 06:24PM UTC

I haven't read such stories for a long time!) I'm looking forward to the continuation!🩷✨

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1. princessrkive on Chapter 4 Mon 24 Nov 2025 07:53AM UTC
  
  THANK YOU, I THINK 🎀
  
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lifeiscool on Chapter 4 Mon 24 Nov 2025 09:44PM UTC

Don't you ever doubt yourself on your own beautiful story, it's really been interesting and fun to read. I'm your loyal supporter author (૭ ｡•̀ ᵕ •́｡ )૭

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1. princessrkive on Chapter 4 Tue 25 Nov 2025 12:27AM UTC
  
  Yes ma’am 🥹🩷
  
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mini_minni3 on Chapter 4 Mon 01 Dec 2025 07:51PM UTC

Just read the note, and before I start the chapter, I'll just say i love the way you write, I love prince Seungmin, and I love the concept in general, I love the idea of Seungmin's beauty being appreciated 😤 so I'll thank you for the long chapters and for creating this work of art

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1. princessrkive on Chapter 4 Wed 03 Dec 2025 07:10PM UTC
  
  I love you thank you 🩷‼️
  
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mini_minni3 on Chapter 4 Tue 02 Dec 2025 03:42AM UTC

I'm in love with their letters, I feel like a teenager kicking her feet's after reading them, and reading ab Seungmin being excited for receiving them

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1. princessrkive on Chapter 4 Wed 03 Dec 2025 07:11PM UTC
  
  I know right, those fucking letters took forever to type up too I was struggling SO bad 😭🎀 thank you
  
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mini_minni3 on Chapter 4 Tue 02 Dec 2025 03:44AM UTC

And I love Angwi sm, I love when she calls Seungmin "sugar", and I love how protective she is, I would love to see the dress she designed, my imagination is not the best, and also the dress she designed for the debut, but I bet it's really pretty

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chaoticeyekon on Chapter 5 Sun 23 Nov 2025 11:37PM UTC

AWWW 2MIN I LOVE IT ❤️

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Sonna_demon10 on Chapter 5 Mon 24 Nov 2025 03:29AM UTC

MY FAVORITE 2MIN!!) I'M LOOKING FORWARD TO THE CONTINUATION!!💞💞

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1. princessrkive on Chapter 5 Mon 24 Nov 2025 07:52AM UTC
  
  LOOKING FORWARD TO PUBLISHING IT FOR YOU🩷‼️
  
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MinnieKou on Chapter 5 Mon 24 Nov 2025 07:39AM UTC

Ahhhh it’s happening!!! It’s happening guys!!
My 2min heart is full and happy!!
This was glorious! 🤩
I can’t wait to see how he’ll meet the others.
And how it will turn out at the ball.
Don’t let us hanging for too long babes!!

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1. princessrkive on Chapter 5 Mon 24 Nov 2025 07:50AM UTC
  
  OF COURSE POOKIE 🩷🩷‼️
  
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Aru59 on Chapter 5 Mon 24 Nov 2025 01:56PM UTC

I came across this wonderful fic today and finished till now in one go.
I am eager to know how is he going to meet others.
As a late comer I get the privilege to read it continuously till now.
Please update soon.
Is there a schedule. If there is please inform me. I get a thing to look forward for the day

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1. princessrkive on Chapter 5 Mon 24 Nov 2025 08:24PM UTC
  
  Hiiiiii🥰 thank you, I am not on a schedule at the moment but I am considering adopting one soon. Still, thank you for reading, and I’ll definitely keep you posted🩷 ‼️ Im so glad you like it so far! 🎀
  
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2. 1. the_cornsalad on Chapter 5 Mon 24 Nov 2025 08:38PM UTC
    
    Oooo possible update schedule? Gonna mark my calendar 😋😋
    
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  2. 1. princessrkive on Chapter 5 Tue 25 Nov 2025 12:09AM UTC
      
      TRYING TO FIGURE IT OUT, JUST FOR Y’ALL LOL
      
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    2. 1. the_cornsalad on Chapter 5 Tue 25 Nov 2025 07:31AM UTC
        
        YOU CAN DO THIS!!!!
        
        Also if it helps you can give yourself like 2 days grace so its less pressure. As in Wednesday - Saturday. You upload on Wednesday and if your not abel to then do it on Saturday. You can do this for dates too! Like expect chapter between 27th - 31st. You can give a possible upload estimate at the end of each chapter so you dont have pressure to have schedule for the whole fic. Just some suggestions hehe cuz I hate schedules too 😞
        
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      2. princessrkive on Chapter 5 Thu 27 Nov 2025 01:56AM UTC
        
        Lolll I’ll figure it out; thanks bookie!! 🥰🥰
        
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        the_cornsalad on Chapter 5 Sun 30 Nov 2025 04:22PM UTC
        
        all the best 🥹🫶
        
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DAUNTLESS

princessrkive

Summary:

Chapter 1

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Chapter 2: Regal

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Chapter 3: The Giver

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Chapter 4: Mendacious

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Chapter 5: Onward

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Chapter 6: Finishing Touches

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Chapter 7: A Night To Remember, Part 1

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Chapter 8: A Night To Remember, Part 2

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MinnieKou on Chapter 1 Thu 13 Nov 2025 05:01PM UTC

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princessrkive on Chapter 1 Fri 14 Nov 2025 03:14AM UTC

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2Jelly_fish2 on Chapter 1 Thu 13 Nov 2025 08:38PM UTC

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princessrkive on Chapter 1 Fri 14 Nov 2025 03:14AM UTC

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Kkodzzu on Chapter 1 Fri 14 Nov 2025 01:36PM UTC

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princessrkive on Chapter 1 Sat 15 Nov 2025 11:26AM UTC

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HappinessOnTheSameEarth on Chapter 1 Tue 25 Nov 2025 11:19AM UTC

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princessrkive on Chapter 1 Thu 27 Nov 2025 01:57AM UTC

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Moon_Clout on Chapter 3 Mon 24 Nov 2025 07:29AM UTC

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princessrkive on Chapter 3 Mon 24 Nov 2025 07:50AM UTC

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lifeiscool on Chapter 3 Mon 24 Nov 2025 09:31PM UTC

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stqlk on Chapter 4 Sat 22 Nov 2025 03:17AM UTC

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princessrkive on Chapter 4 Sat 22 Nov 2025 05:12PM UTC

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princessrkive on Chapter 4 Sat 22 Nov 2025 05:24PM UTC

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the_cornsalad on Chapter 4 Sat 22 Nov 2025 07:20AM UTC

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princessrkive on Chapter 4 Sat 22 Nov 2025 05:22PM UTC

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the_cornsalad on Chapter 4 Sat 22 Nov 2025 09:19PM UTC

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princessrkive on Chapter 4 Sat 22 Nov 2025 10:53PM UTC

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princessrkive on Chapter 4 Sat 22 Nov 2025 10:55PM UTC

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the_cornsalad on Chapter 4 Sun 23 Nov 2025 07:03AM UTC

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MinnieKou on Chapter 4 Sat 22 Nov 2025 05:16PM UTC

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