Chapter Text
He was coughing heavily into his palm while he felt the slime travelling through his throat and he fell into a coughing fit again, the wet towel from earlier hanging like a lukewarm beer by a thread on his forehead. He convulsed again and the door was rather forcefully opened at that. Someone was hasting in with a bowl of something, icy water he presumed, and he went slack in his bed again, watching the newcomer with bleary eyes. He sneered when the towel on his head was exchanged, and the ice-cold water dripped from the sides of his face into his ears.
“My apologies, but I also come with unwelcome news, my liege.”
He blinked slowly, throat constricting from a new cough forming and his body shot up, bending in half while he was coughing again, throat hoarse and irritated. The towel fell off his face but was collected right away by nimble fingers before it hit the duvet.
He was pushed back into bed and his face got cleaned carefully while rattling breath was leaving his lungs, not enough oxygen getting into his lungs and each deeper breath hurt his chest.
He reached out with trembling fingers for the other man’s hand, before feeling for the single phalanxes until he found the right one.
“Who? The mercenary we have with us for ten years now and his group. They took it as an invite that you’ve fallen ill, and they pillage a village half a day from here…”
He shot up in a sudden rage, a cough getting swallowed in his rattled breath, and he felt a fire pulsating through his veins. He pressed another set of finger links without looking away from the man’s face, wide eyes burning from the sudden unfiltered daylight and his body starting to power up again from ire.
“Yes, my liege, I’ll take the fastest stead to the territory and start negotiating with the king right away about who’s going to execute him. Yes, my liege. But are you sure you’re strong enough to go there yourself?”
He nodded, pulling himself off the bead with heavy feet and slack shoulders. He had no time to wash up. Stripping out of his clothes, he dropped them to the ground, grabbed the towel and the cold water, washing his face, chest and arms before making haste to the clothing he’d wear. His attendant had already left, hasting towards the stables, mostly getting both their horses ready. He might be gone by the time he’d arrive at the stables himself.
His subordinates were bustling and vibrating with fear when they came across him while he was marching towards the stables, sword and dagger bound to his hip. He wouldn’t need more to hunt them down. It didn’t matter that he was sick. His fury alone was enough to keep him going, a dark aura swelling around him. He would deliver the traitor to the king whose land he destroyed.
With a bit of magic, the ride was a breeze. He brought the royal insignia just so they let him pass through and hopefully he’d be able to get an audience with the king or someone else at least.
“I bring a message from my liege for the king about the pillaging happening in a village a quarter daylight time from here,” he stopped his horse in front of the guards and gates of the city wall.
The guards eyed him suspiciously and he branded the insignia, “These are renegades, my liege would’ve never let this happen. They acted under the coat of the night. I’m here as a royal adviser to negotiate the surrender and execution of the treacherous mercenary.”
They were still suspicious of him, but one guard called for someone else and after a long while, he was finally let in, led by three more guards that flanked him; after patting him down and not finding weaponry or anything suspicious they let him be. He tied his stead to the stables and was let again with hurry. He realised they would have sent him to their king, and he might’ve been slightly surprised to be greeted by the king himself, which was a bit weird in the first place. But that’s when he remembered the insignia, one used so seldom, it was seen just every few decades but otherwise, they wouldn’t let him pass.
He dropped to his knee the moment he was in the middle of the throne room, keeping his eyes on the ground and ears strained. There were murmurs all around him and he waited for the tell-tale sign of heavy boots on the stone floor with an entourage following them. Which followed soon after. He kept his eyes trained on the ground.
The foreign king made a show of sitting down but was miffed when the man kneeling in front of him did not acknowledge him except with an even deeper bow, his forehead close to touching the ground, hair falling into his face. It was an unusual colour he was wearing, two colours to be specific. He seemed almost wild and untamed, just like the majestic black stead he had seen outside when he was passing by a window. The stead wasn’t appropriate for a mere royal adviser.
“Bow for the Majesty Kye III. of Tewomaseo, King of Cirrane,” a guard announced after the king had sat down.
“What brings you here, Royal Adviser whose name I do not know and who just shoved an insignia into my guard’s face?” The king jumped straight to the point, which was very much favoured by Jongdae.
“I apologise for my brashness, but we had to act the moment we heard of the misdeeds my lord’s subjects have done.” He did not move his body out of the bow.
The king raised an eyebrow, “Have done?”
“Yes, your Highness, my lord should’ve sent soldiers to the scene of the pillage and apprehended the mercenary guilty of it. And that’s why I’m here, to negotiate.”
“Do you think you’re in any position to negotiate?” One of the king’s advisers, a red-faced fat duke, sneered at the man kneeling in front, not lifting his face once from the ground, but speaking with such clarity, that the king might’ve said he had a king in front of him.
“I apologise, but yes. I’m my lord’s only adviser.” He gave back with such a calm voice as if he was speaking of the weather.
“If you’re the only one, what would happen if we would keep you here as bait?” The king leaned his face against the open palm and crossed his leg over the other while getting comfortable on his throne.
“He’d burn down the whole place,” it sounded like the kneeling adviser was smirking.
“And who is this lord you speak of; we don’t even know your name and if the insignia is even real,” the king asked.
“Yet you let me in without hesitation, Your Highness. My lord is my majesty; it is the King of Askijan-Thryar for the past twenty years. As for me, I’m just his humble servant, not worth mentioning my name.”
“Ah, I haven’t heard the name Askijan-Thryar in so long, you’re itinerant, aren’t you?” An old adviser spoke up, surprising the king with the heavy respect that bled through the question, and fear. He didn’t even question the validity of the statement and the insignia. This insignia was barely known, even less seen up close, but everyone would recognise it off the older generation, and no one ever claimed to be the majesty of Askijan-Thryar or impose as them.
No one used the names lightly; one did not want to be associated with a kingdom that had no land and even less such barbaric traditions as killing the king or queen in a duel. The last king had been rather gruesome. That’s what legends tell, and he wasn’t afraid to show his face, a violent sovereign until one day it went quiet around him and a few nights later, his head was found spiked on a stake closest to where he was seen last. Then it went quiet around the Itinerants.
The adviser nodded. What an interesting development. One of his servants came up to him in a moment of stifled quietness, whispering to him that no one knew what the king looked like since he had defeated the old king in a duel fair and square. Since then, no one knew where the king was and where his entourage was heading, apparently always on the move. But he couldn’t tell what the adviser was.
“And it’s his men pillaging my village?”
“We only learned about it this morning, and this is why I’m here, Your Highness. We’d never do such a thing and when we heard it, we took immediate action.”
“You’re not denying the statement… So, so, what is the negotiation you’re thinking about?”
“The execution of the traitor.” The adviser finally and suddenly looked up, face devoid of emotion and the warmth his voice carried. “We either execute him ourselves and send you the head or we send you the traitor and you execute him yourself or pillory him, whatever you wish to do with him. We, of course, will try to restore the village that was attacked.”
A murmur went through the crowd of onlookers and the king pressed his fingers against his lips. Now that he finally got a good look at the face, he could tell that the man in front of him had some of the same heritage as him, but his hair was still… “What have you done to your hair?”
The adviser’s eyes went wide, and he reached up, the sleeve of his wide blouse sliding down the arm, revealing a row of dark ink, “Pardon?”
“Your hair, the braiding I assume might be traditional and done by you, but the colour?”
He caught himself and his face moved back into an unemotional mask, “My lord.”
“Your lord, you say?” The king raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, my lord was the one to bleach my hair; if that’s the word you’re looking for. He lightened my hair.”
“Your lord, the majesty?” The king frowned, why would a king do such a thing?
“Your majesty, I’m not here to discuss the nature of my hair. Either we deliver the traitor to you alive or we cut off his head and send it to you.” There was a finality in the words and the king smirked, his subjects always buttered up to him and would indulge him in his questions, but this man looked rather annoyed by it, not even trying to hide it. Maybe he should keep him?
“What are you?” The king tried, using more authority but the man’s eyebrows just moved upwards, and the annoyance finally bled through his façade, and he scoffed. Another murmur in the crowd for the blatant disrespect. His guards reached for their swords.
The adviser smirked, he had taken notice of what had happened behind him without looking back once and his chest puffed out a little with a stark sense of proudness, “I’m unarmed.” He raised his hands showing his palms, “But if you want to try, then bring it on. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
No way an unarmed man would say such a thing, but the king was irked and intrigued. He moved his fingers towards the guards and one at least two heads taller than the kneeling man charged at the adviser, sword drawn. In a fluid motion jumping to his feet, the adviser sidestepped him with ease, turning around his axis and reappeared behind the guard before his elbow suddenly shot down into the crook of the guard’s neck who howled in pain and dropped through the ground, holding his shoulder.
“Another one, or can we come back to the subject at hand?” The adviser clicked his tongue in annoyance, before kicking the sword away and reaching for the guard’s shoulder and without warning pushing the dislocated shoulder back in place, a blood-curling scream ripping from the guard’s mouth before he fell unconscious. “His arm is back in place. And I don’t have all the time in the world.”
The king clapped in delight, “Oh, what a show. I didn’t expect an adviser to be so quick on their feet. Bring me the traitor and your king and you execute him before me.”
“Can’t do,” came the adviser’s curt answer while dusting off his sleeve without looking at the king. His former devotion and respect are gone. What if people knew that his king was rather introverted? “My lord does not show his face.”
“Not even for me and to beg for forgiveness before I hunt him down?”
“I speak for my lord when I say ‘no’. And a king does not beg, even less will he be hunted down. Speak ill of my lord and I might be forced to act. Even if we’ve been betrayed by our mercenaries we shared the space for ten years, the answer still will be no. I’ll return now.”
“Did you just threaten me?” The guards were hesitating but ready, nonetheless.
“Make whatever you want of it but this won’t change our answer. I’ll be coming back with tidings of my lord.” His bow was less formal now, barely a nod of his head. The king hid a smug grin behind his palm. What an interesting character this was, and this made it just more intriguing to him to know what character this other king would have if his only royal adviser was such a strong character already. He looked to the side after the adviser had left and he nodded towards the shadow that vanished right after that.
Should be an easy feat to find out where this so-called king was residing.
Blood was soaking through his clothes, and he had gotten some in his eye, blurring his view but it didn’t hinder his ability to see.
Yaël had left behind the burning pile of bodies outside the village waiting to be discovered by the guards and the leader of the mercenaries was unconscious and tied up, with teeth missing and broken bones, but not dead. He was ready to be hurled toward the king of the territory and his job was done. The traitors had not seen what was coming their way and this made it an easier feast for him. But there was a myriad of smells in the village itself that made his stomach churn and his fury reach further. He needed to talk to his adviser about what to do if he would be back by the time when he would be back in their camp.
Jongdae knew he was being followed since he left the stables. The spy was good, but not good enough for someone of his calibre. The sun was already setting, and he was close to the first forest. He stopped on the brink of the forest that was supposed to be cursed, not like he could confirm that, and he looked back. He looked in the direction he knew the spy was hiding and he pulled something from the inside of his coat, uncorking the vial and sprinkling some on his horse and himself. He pressed the cork back into the mouth of the vial and slid it back into the inside of his coat. He had been extra obvious with it.
He pulled the hood off his head because it wouldn’t stay on anyway. He pressed the heels of his boots into the horse’s flanks that quickly won speed and tore through the underwood of the forest that was growing increasingly denser which each step. Jongdae knew the pathway by heart, despite it being overgrown for years now and so did his horse.
He had lost the spy the moment he dashed into the forest, leaving behind a confused woman unable to track him down, despite having seen which route he took.
It was already dark when he reached the end of the forest, his stead snorting once it got into a light trot. The adviser scoffed when he saw his liege at the stream, getting his back scrubbed hard and hair washed by none other than the farmer.
The farmer wouldn’t recognise his king if he was standing right in front of him, sticking his nose into it. But Jongdae raised a knowing eyebrow when the farmer suddenly curled his hand around his liege’s chin and pulled the face backwards, pressing his lips against the other man’s. Jongdae had seen it more often than enough and never commented on it, not when he could’ve been involved. He led his horse closer to the stream where the two men were making out, his liege pulling the farmer into the water before climbing his lap, deepening the kiss. He moaned when the farmer attached his lips to the column of his neck and he threw his head back, eyes barely open but he caught sight of Jongdae, nonetheless.
“I bring unfortunate tidings, my liege. Farmer Chanyeol,” Jongdae dipped his head before dismounting his horse who stepped closer to the stream to drink from it. The farmer jolted a little but started laughing loudly right away from being caught in such a compromising situation.
His liege leaned back in the embrace he was caught in to get a good look before holding his hand out for Jongdae to take. Now that he was closer, he could see that his liege was naked and aroused despite the darkness of his skin and in the dark stream. Jongdae held out his hand for him to latch onto it and press some links on it.
“When did you come back, my liege?” His liege looked around to where the sun went down, pointing at it. “At sundown, that’s when he came back,” the farmer answered while cupping the man’s ass, holding him closer while his fingers were clearly doing something else. He saw it in his liege’s eyes. “He asked me to help wash out the blood from his hair after he washed his clothing soaked in blood.”
Jongdae nodded in understanding before sitting down by the stream, watching the two men being cosy with one another. The farmer had no self-preservation. “The king wants you there to execute the traitor yourself,” he jerked his chin towards his liege who frowned in annoyance, his eyebrows drawing close. “I know, I told him that you wouldn’t do it and not to be the prude one, but my liege, you’re still sick, get out of the water now. Your clothing is already dry.”
The farmer protested and before Jongdae’s liege could get up, the farmer pulled his face down for the last time kissing him deeply, but he couldn’t keep his hands to himself when the other man stood stark naked in front of him and the farmer gave the erect cock a good tug, pulling a mewl from his liege and got a smack across the head in retaliation.
“You really have no self-respect, farmer.” Jongdae shook his head. “Anyway, I told the king the answer is no but he’s still demanding you to be there. And I might’ve threatened him, that’s at least what he told me.”
His liege shrugged his shoulders and reached for a cloth to dry his body with; the farmer was still sitting in the stream in his soaking clothes, sulking. Jongdae accepted the hand in front of his face. He mulled over the pressure on his fingers. He frowned.
“Are you sure? Sending someone else in place of you? Or something like that? Wait! Someone else posing as you? My liege! Yaël!” Jongdae was aghast, aghast enough to call his liege by his given name.
His liege pointed at the farmer, raising one eyebrow, giving Jongdae a look.
“You’re right, he would just blab—” “Hey!” “—it’s true though. I’ll go to that arrogant king in two days’ time and tell him we’ll send your most trusted, together with me. I rather go alone when the time comes, but the king seems to be stubborn enough. We retreat for the night, did you already eat, my liege?”
He shook his head before suddenly breaking into a cough, slumping over and Jongdae caught him, the forehead of his liege coming into contact with his exposed neck, and he felt abnormal heat radiating from it. “Chanyeol! The liege is burning up and you decide it’s a suitable time to make out with him?!”
At least the farmer had the conscience to look ashamed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.”
Jongdae looked down at the hand covering his, he felt. “Yes, he is arrogant for sure, right up your alley in your weird taste of men.” His eyebrows drew closer, looking not convinced before he chuckled. “Yes, my liege, I’m talking about myself. But given that, the farmer is arrogant enough. Yes. My liege.” At least his liege was fit enough to joke around again.
Yaël sat in his armchair in front of the maps, staring into the space while chewing on his thumb, minimising the nail further. He was waiting for Jongdae’s return who was gone for more than half a day already and he had left before sunrise. They would start moving soon. The last of the harvest had been carried in and they were getting ready to leave soon. The magic circle would make sure no one unauthorised could step into their little paradise, but they had no idea if the other king had knowledge about magic in the first place. He started tapping his hands against his thighs in a rhythm he had stuck in his head for days now. One of his subjects came over and lifted his hands just to place a small handheld drum on his lap. His entourage was small, even smaller now that the mercenaries had deserted them. The drum under his fingers gave the rhythm more substance, which he was thankful for.
He either went back and brought his people with him or tried to recruit another round. But after being betrayed by someone you thought to be your allies for the past fifteen years, it left a bitter taste. He would just send for his soldiers that were stationed all over the country. Or move there, he wasn’t a wandering king for no reason.
He looked at the map after he stopped drumming on the leather.
They should go to Narnclaedra, the furthest from where they were now, back home.
One of his generals knocked on his table to get his attention after walking inside the room, “My liege? We’re almost ready, as you wished for. We’ll be leaving as soon as possible, and Sir Jongdae and you will follow as soon as possible?”
He nodded; he knew that his subjects were rightfully wary after what had happened. But he needed to stay longer, the people they lived with…they had to forget with whom they lived together for the past years. Yaël looked outside, catching sight of the farmer who was flirting with someone. A small smile played around his lips while he fondly shook his head before redirecting his attention to his general, holding out his hand.
Jongdae had left early in the morning, wishing the ones he saw a safe journey to wherever their majesty would send them. He trotted through the forest, enjoying the silence of the forest slowly waking up, the murmur of the leaves and the rustle of the roots stretching. He wished a whispered good morning because he knew it might be one of the last few quieter mornings they would have.
It has been two days since the attack and he was feeling squeamish, having to go to the king again to tell him what he already told him.
He arrived during the bustling morning hours in the capital, navigating through the busy streets, looking at everything with clear eyes for once, taking in what he saw, and if the king treated his subjects well. What he wasn’t used to being the smells, smells he wasn’t used to. Usually, he’d be able to tell them apart, but in this environment, it felt stifling.
“Young man, fancy some fresh produce?” He knew he was referred to, feeling the eyes of the seller on him. He gave her a quiet look, shaking politely his head but reaching into his purse nonetheless to snip her a coin, she scoffed at him. The fruit smelt weird, even from a distance.
The closer he got to the fortress itself after he had passed through the gates, the cleaner the streets got and the richer the houses were, but there were also more guards eyeing him. He spurred his horse into a faster trot.
Once at the fortress gates’, he was held up by guards again.
“I’m here on behalf of the King of Askijan-Thryar to speak with your king.” He pulled his coat to the side, showing the royal insignia again. He was unwelcomed if the snares and scoffs were anything to go by, but now that one of their former subjects was here after having done such a heinous crime, he couldn’t blame them.
Once his horse was left at the stables again, he was guided through the same corridors again like days before.
He was led inside the throne room and told to wait; the king was still taking his meal. Jongdae knew what it meant, and he knelt in the same space as days prior, closing his eyes and resting his hands on his thighs. This could be a possible long wait.
He mediated until he heard more sounds inside the castle again, signalling the time for midday and the king’s meal again. He slowly moved out of the position he held for far too long and he stretched his legs while he was sitting on the ground, massaging them until he could feel his toes again. Slowly getting up, his joints protested, and it sounded eerily loud in the almost empty throne room. Jongdae knew he wasn’t alone.
He moved around. Looking at the architecture, feeling the cloth used for the draperies, feeling the rather smooth stone used to build the room, the wood used for the furniture until he went up to the colourful ceiling-high windows.
He had never really been in a castle such as this and he studied the windows with more effort, getting an understanding of what he was seeing. It took him a couple of moments to get over his stupefied realisation and he scoffed loudly. The King of Cirrane had gotten himself visualised in glass. What an arrogant man; indeed, Yaël would’ve had a field day with such a man. Maybe he should keep this information from him until he saw it for himself. Jongdae would love to watch the pure disgust forming in his eyes from such a piece of art.
Soon it was getting later and warmer and he was still waiting. He was leaning against a wall, arms crossed, and head hung low, his eyes closed. He got a feel for the layout of the castle, branching out to see where the cells might be if they were inside the castle or outside in the fortress somewhere. He found the gateway from the castle to the cells and saw how much of a possible hazard it was. But this wasn’t his castle, so why should he care? It seemed to be a rather simple castle if he was able to tell apart the hallways, but Yaël had trained him for the longest time in something that was not innate in him with the slightest hint.
He heard multiple footsteps approaching, but he didn’t move a muscle and stood rooted at the wall until the doors were opened.
“Bow for the Majesty Kye III. of Tewomaseo, King of Cirrane, Son of Mother Sun, Father Moon and blessed by the Stars!” What a pompous introduction, Jongdae thought. He barely lifted his head; he knew he was expected to bow. He had done it only once after the disrespect he had suffered, and he wouldn’t back down again. He opened one eye, looking at the entourage that came bustling into the throne room. Jongdae only moved when the king sat on his throne, observing him with mirth.
Jongdae pushed himself off the wall, arms still crossed, walking excruciatingly slow towards the middle of the room before finally letting his hands fall. He gave a formal bow but lifted again to stare at the king. Rolling his eyes, he announced in his sweetest voice his greeting, “What an honour to be graced by your presence, your Highness. As the representative of the King of Askijan-Thryar, I’m in awe of your Highness’ decision to meet with me, a lowly royal adviser. I must say, the wait felt so short.”
The king smirked, crossing his legs while leaning back, “I must say, this change in personality from the first time we met and now is very entertaining to me. I’m not used to such blatant disrespect, but it feels refreshing.” If he saw this as disrespect, he shouldn’t hear the way Jongdae speaks to his liege.
“Anyway, Your Highness. My king will not come here, just as I said. But he is willed to send his most trusted man, expect me, as a replacement; his personal guard.” Jongdae didn’t try to hide his annoyance.
The king just barely lifted his eyebrows while pursing his lips. “Such a shame, it would’ve been a delight to meet your infamous king.”
“I beg your pardon; do you even know how long my king has been king? Like—” Jongdae rolled his eyes while he realised, he was trying to explain himself. He sighed deeply, “—I can tell you, that no one knows my highness’ name because no one knows it’s the same person that had won the duel against the old King of Askijan, Guénael Le Calvez. Do you need more information?” Jongdae pursed his lips and squinted his eyes at the king in front of him, clasping his hands together. “My highness sends his guard, or this negotiation ends here, Your Highness. And we already said we’ll help with the people that have been affected by the attack.”
Jongdae was losing his patience, it was like he had to argue with a spoiled child…now that he looked at the king, he realised something, “I’ll be honest with you, we’re out of the loop with who reigns where and for how long, how long are you sitting on the throne now? Wait, no, don’t answer it.”
The king tilted his head to the side and smirked at Jongdae and it infuriated him even more. The king managed to press all the wrong sections on his body. “Okay, I’ll allow it. Bring me his guard and I accept this apology.”
Jongdae had his hand in a fist the whole time he was travelling back. He was livid. Until he saw a familiar face.
A couple of hours later and Jongdae still hadn’t arrived. Yaël was walking through the empty house he had seen as his home for the past years. They had relocated his and Jongdae’s belonging and clothes they would need inside one of the smaller rooms, the fireplace almost extinguished from not being fed with firewood. He walked up to it and squatted down before it, carefully throwing some logs in before straightening out his legs again and walking towards his clothing. Wrapping his cloak around him and obscuring his face, he hasted outside towards the stables towards his stallion waiting for him as if it knew Yaël was coming. One of the stable boys had already saddled the horse who was only waiting for his rider.
Once seated in the saddle, Yaël reached down, ruffling the boy’s head before stirring his horse out of the confinements of the building.
It was getting dark when Yaël finally reached the furthest outskirts of the king’s territory and he waited. He barely moved and kept his eyes on the road and the surrounding. Curious onlookers walked past him either towards the town or out of it, but no one spoke to him. They would’ve heard by now what had happened just two days ago. After what seemed to be hours, he finally saw a silhouette appearing in the distance.
Jongdae had his hood pulled down into his face, not wanting to be recognised but it wasn’t easy blending in when he was the only one on a horse. He kept his eyes down until he saw another rider trotting towards him and he barely lifted his face to look at them, but his head jerked upwards when he recognised them.
He wanted to speak up, but the slightest hand movement of the masked rider coming up to him kept him from speaking further. Jongdae brought his horse to a halt at the side of the road and the other rider finally caught up to him, eyes trained on something else behind Jongdae. The unnatural glint in Yaël’s eyes was barely noticeable. Yaël passed him, not looking at him before stirring his horse around, trotting up next to Jongdae.
“You couldn’t wait for me?” Jongdae wanted to reprimand him, but the excited glint in his liege’s eyes was enough for him to not be mean for once.
Yaël enthusiastically shook his head. He reached out for Jongdae’s hand that was resting on his saddle, pressing the digits. The others had left already and Yaël was feeling anxious, he signed by now. The finger links could only have so much meaning. And no, he couldn’t wait for Jongdae to come back.
Yaël looked back one last time and Jongdae followed his line of vision. The town was bustling with people by now but they both knew what they were looking for.
Jongdae looked back at his liege, and he could tell from the way the eyes turned into crescents that he was up to mischief.
He suddenly pressed the heels of his boots into the flanks of his horse, and it neighed before getting almost directly into a gallop, Jongdae should’ve seen it coming and he hollered for his horse to keep up while Yaël was already standing in his stirrup, dashing away from Jongdae with speed. The king’s spies could be forgotten about for the moment.
They arrived at their destination in the middle of the night and there was a faint light coming from the last room in the house they had stayed in, and they knew what or rather who they would find. Yaël pulled the cloth covering his lower face at all times down and held the door open for Jongdae who hushed in, tiptoeing towards their room. He didn’t mind sharing a room with his lord, knowing him long enough. He opened the door almost silently and they were greeted with the sight of the farmer curled into a ball in front of the fireplace that was still giving off warmth and light. Jongdae shook his head fondly and looked at Yaël who signed him that the bed would be big enough for all three of them. No need to send the farmer back into the cold.
Jongdae walked over to their sparse belongings, starting to strip off his clothing while fumbling for the herbs he used for his teeth. Yaël squatted down before the sleeping figure of the farmer and ran his hand through his hair. The farmer stirred awake, purring in delight and with bleary eyes, he reached out for Yaël who instead, hoisted him up in his arms, despite being the same height.
“You could get kidnapped like this and you’d only realise it four nights later, farmer Chanyeol,” Jongdae remarked quietly from the sidelines and the farmer just huffed in mild annoyance while already falling asleep again.
Once the man was lying in the bed, covered by the duvet, Yaël sat down at the side of the bed, twirling the strands of Chanyeol’s hair between his fingers and looking at him forlornly. Jongdae knew it would take some time to get used to.
He walked up to Yaël, tilting his face upwards. “It’s going to be alright, my king,” he whispered assurances while leaning down.
Yaël was such a soft king, it was ridiculous. Jongdae had watched him fight tooth and nail with the late king, killing him without remorse after having challenged him for the throne. Yaël hadn’t been an ungrateful king, quite the contrary. But Jongdae had also seen him challenged by his men who wanted the throne and he had killed each and every one of them, barely armed one must mention. But like the true leader he was, he had a soft spot for the weakest members of his entourage, temporary or not, it didn’t matter.
But even Jongdae felt irked by the fact that they would leave Chanyeol behind, he had bloomed so much since he had been working for Yaël. Gone was the quiet farmer and he was relatively easily replaced by the gullible and very flirtatious farmer who would make remarks about Yaël at any given time, still not realising that he was a king, his king. For Chanyeol he was an adventure, a conquest to conquer, because no one had indulged him with silent affection like Yaël had, even Jongdae’s brash behaviour and he was beloved among Yaël’s entourage as a troublemaker but always the first to help. Also, no one discriminated against him for the fact that he was so tall and well-built and not what the standard was supposed to be. Yaël still bristled at that like a cat. He could only hope that Chanyeol had grown over his past and would carry on like he was now.
“You want to get fucked by him,” Jongdae stared at him suddenly judgingly, he squinted his eyes at him while spitting out the herbs to clean his teeth and flushed them with water.
Yaël shrugged his shoulders, pointing with both hands at Chanyeol sleeping, shrugging his shoulders again. Staring at him with wide eyes and visibly disgust written over his face, Yaël signed with an overly strong signing, Wait, did you just kiss me while you were cleaning your teeth?
Jongdae wiggled his eyebrows before moving under the cover on the other side of Chanyeol, pressing his chest against the farmer and wrapping his arms around his torso. Jongdae appreciated a living fireplace, even if he gave Chanyeol usually the aloof shoulder.
Rolling his eyes, Yaël stripped of his clothing, undoing wrap after wrap until he stood only in his undergarments in the room and cleaned his teeth.
The horses were saddled up and the rest of their belonging mounted to the horses, all ready to leave. Jongdae was surprisingly quiet that morning. “And you’ll be back in the evening after you’re done with whatever that king wants?” Chanyeol stared at Yaël with big eyes and Yaël held his hand, pressing down on the digits. A promise of a quick return. Chanyeol smiled brightly while Yaël’s smile barely left the corners of his mouth let alone his eyes. Jongdae stirred his horse next to Chanyeol, reaching down to ruffle his hair, “Be a good boy, will you?” Chanyeol frowned in confusion before there was a pink dust coating his cheeks. Jongdae didn’t comment on it and cupped Chanyeol’s cheek in his palm, dragging his thumb over the apple of his cheek. “I know you will.”
Yaël, before mounting his horse, held Chanyeol’s face just to give him a deep kiss, pressing his forehead against the farmer’s before pressing his lips ultimately against his forehead. He mounted his stallion and waved while they were nearing the forest.
Once they moved through the forest slowly, listening to what the forest had to tell them, slowly, because it was old, they reached a point where Yaël jumped down from his horse, looking into the direction they came from and where they might never return to again. He crouched down, pressing his palm against the moist moss, damp with morning dew, and a tinkling static was crackling through the suddenly dead silent forest before the sounds returned. The forest would stay cursed, but the spell-binding circle had been undone after all these years when they first arrived.
Yaël was a black dot with how masked and hooded he was, the only thing visible was his eyes coated in black colour and the scar emerging from under his mask.
He had even his hands covered in black gloves, keeping everything about his ink status a secret. Jongdae was so used to seem him covered up, that when he saw him at the stream with Chanyeol, he was reminded how artificially and naturally blackened his liege’s skin was.
He caught his eyes and nodded at him, before looking to the front again while they were trotting towards the fortress while the sun was on her highest point. They were already expected at the gates where four guards were waiting. Yaël pulled the hood closer to his face and at this point, he was trusting his stallion to take the lead and follow the men. He let the reins slip through his hands and rested his hands on his lap. Jongdae watched him from the corner of his eye and pulled his own mask higher into his face. He didn’t like the attention they were awarded with. The subjects of the king were eyeing them with curiosity because they were flanked by two guards on each side, and it slowed them down immensely. Slower than they liked, they arrived at the castle gates and Yaël finally took hold of the reins again but only to jump down from his horse and tie it to a post. Jongdae leaned his elbows on the saddle horn and watched his liege reaching for his horse’s reins to do the same. “We’re being watched,” Jongdae remarked and Yaël lifted the hood with his thumb, but only to look at Jongdae himself before rolling his eyes to which Jongdae only shrugged. Yaël held up both hands, pointing at one finger link on his right hand, Jongdae nodded, “Yes, the king.” He pulled a grimace, “I’ve seen enough of kings such as him to last me a lifetime in the last moon circle.”
His liege just walked away, dramatically shrugging before making a sharp roundabout and coming back up next to Jongdae, offering his hand to help him down. Jongdae accepted the hand, and he got off the horse more graciously than he had anticipated. “You’re making quite the show,” Jongdae muttered. Yaël tilted his head down so he could peer into Jongdae’s face, his hood obstructing the view of his face for anyone that wasn’t Jongdae and wiggled his eyebrows and something that sounded like kissing noises, but once he pulled back, his eyes darkened over. He showed the guards his sword and dagger and got patted down, the same being done to Jongdae who also only carried his sword, his bow bound to his horse’s saddle.
The king was watching the arrival of the two men with something akin to fascination and anticipation. Even if he wouldn’t see the king, giving away his personal guard like this. Oh, how nice would’ve been to know where the king was…
And the fact he wasn’t able to tell what the royal adviser was… it irked him; he hadn’t even reacted when he had used his voice. But he would see how it would play out now.
He was led through the throne room, sitting down on it and straightening his crown again. His entourage was buzzing with anticipation more so than he was. Not only was it unheard of for one king to order another king to come to his castle, but the other king flatly disregarded the command and denied the request. Was there even a hierarchy between a king who was an itinerant and one with a capital? Yes, there was, at least in his opinion.
The doors to the throne room finally opened and in came a hooded and masked person in all black, barely making a sound from the way they moved, despite a sword dangling by their side, the royal adviser next to them. He couldn’t see the face, just the barest sliver of eyes smeared with black kohl. The eyes seemed to glint for a short breath before they were black again.
The hooded person knelt on one knee, bowing his head before the king, the royal adviser still right next to him, following suit. He pulled down the cloth covering his lower face to speak.
“King of Cirrane, we’re pleased to be greeted by your majesty and my king, the King of Askijan-Thryar sends out greetings for allowing his personal guard and his royal adviser to be graced by your humble presence. He’s sending his best regards and a long reign.”
The king smirked, “So, are you finally going to tell me your name? And you, just for decency’s sake, pull off the hood.”
The hooded figure shook their head, keeping their eyes trained on the ground.
“If I may speak out of turn, this is my lord’s guard who hasn’t spoken since he joined us after having left the covenant, Sehun de Morvan, as for me, Corentin de Saint-André,” those sounded like fake names, but the king indulged them.
“Then should I introduce myself to your friend here?” The king tilted his head, but the hooded man did not move at all as if he was in a meditative state. “Or shall we have a meal first?”
The hooded man suddenly reached out for the royal adviser’s hand, seemingly holding it if the king didn’t see the minute movement of the fingers on the adviser’s hand. The adviser suddenly snorted, before he looked up, mirth dancing in his eyes.
“We’re here on official business and have to leave soon after, we beg your pardon, but we’re not here to entertain Your Highness.”
“Is that so?” The king got up from his throne, slowly walking up to the men kneeling on the ground. Once he reached them, he squatted down and the entourage murmured, begging the king to not level with the foreigners. He silenced them with his hand. “I’m King Kye III. of Tewomaseo, King of Cirrane, Son of the Mother Sun and Father Moon and blessed by the Stars.”
The hooded man suddenly let something out, muffled by his mask, which sounded like a hiccupped snort, his shoulders shot upwards before he caught himself. The King, intrigued, reached out and lifted the man’s hood who did not even move upon being touched, but the king was unable to get a good look at the face, despite the apparent golden jewellery adorning the face and the smeared kohl; his eyes were tightly shut as if he was sleeping. The king took an audible inhale through his nose, but he got nothing from them, except the smell of sweat and horses from up close, there was a hint of morning dew and forest emanating from both men.
“Interesting,” the king straightened out again and slowly walked back to his throne with his arms crossed behind his back. He looked back upon hearing a smack and something colliding with the floor, he saw the hooded person holding a hand to the back of his head and the adviser’s hand pulling back as if he just hadn’t smacked the personal guard over his head, looking mildly annoyed. “You two seem very entertaining, why don’t you become my court jesters?”
The personal guard’s head moved towards the royal adviser who gave him a look, rolling his eyes. “You two seem very familiar with one another to have no thought left for hierarchy,” the king remarked when he sat down again, resting his chin on his open palm.
“We've known each other for more than half my life now, Your Highness, and we don’t tend to maintain customs as strictly as others.” The royal adviser answered, looking straight at the king.
“So, are you going to tell me finally what you are, I don’t know how you’re doing it, but even up close I wasn’t able to determine it.” The king tried again using his voice more strongly this time and his entourage visibly reacted to it, but the two men in front of him did not react in the slightest. It frustrated him and he balled his fist. Was it that both were of his rank? The personal guard had only the height of an Alpha, he even slumped his shoulders a little and bend the tiniest amount at the hip, he might’ve been broader than the adviser who seemed nimbler; he had seen how fast he was on his feet. He just hadn’t seen the personal guard in action yet. But it wasn’t unheard of Omegas to appear more strongly than they were.
“Why don’t you just bring us the prisoner?” The adviser looked increasingly annoyed once again, putting his hands on his knees, pulling his weight up, and standing straight, but the man next to him remained kneeling.
“Always business, I see why you’re that king’s royal adviser. Got your mouth a bit too full, ain’t you?” The king snarled at him, irritated. He wasn’t used to not being entertained… and this was the third time from the same person.
Yaël rolled his eyes; Jongdae had told him that the king was arrogant, but this? Trying to use his voice just because things didn’t go his way? He expected more of a king. Just his problem was that neither he nor Jongdae was susceptible to an Alpha’s voice. But he also didn’t keep quiet if his most trusted underling was being talked down to.
He swung back on his heels in one fluid movement, using the core strength of his legs and straightened out his whole posture, standing tall next to Jongdae, fingers barely grazing the hilt of his sword. A warning. Below the hood covering his face, he saw an excited glint in the king’s eyes, flaring up once Yaël did something. He took a step forward, all guards surrounding him getting nervous and he hooked a gloved thumb under the cross-guard, starting to slowly push the blade out.
“Is he a personal guard or a guard dog?” The king asked amused, clapping his hands. Arrogant, his ass. If he knew who he was talking to. Not only that, but Jongdae had given his name to him. “Alright, alright. Guards, bring the prisoner in and onto the chopping block.” Yaël took a step back, letting the sword slide back noisily into the scabbard, the cross-guard catching onto the locket and leaving a metallic clank.
Shouting from outside alerted the king’s subjects and they became more and more agitated. The traitor was brought in shouting profanities and rebelling against his restraints. Yaël had gotten easy on him when he had ambushed them, and it showed. He should’ve cut off an arm or leg.
The guards, three of them, had trouble holding the deserter down, but finally managed to wrestle him to the chopping block…
“Gallig Ar Govig, Son of Brewen Ar Gorvig, shunned and outcasted husband of Deneza Mordrel!” Jongdae’s voice boomed through the relatively big throne room and almost everyone shut up, no murmur reaching their ears. “I declare you hereby—”
“You fucking lapdog! What did you say about my woman?!” Gallig suddenly turned his attention towards the adviser, foaming at his mouth, bloodshot eyes, angry.
“Your wife declares you shunned and dead after what you’ve done to innocent women! You committed crimes against her and your king. You’ll be burning at a pile of dung like the men you’ve taken with you to these inexcusable crimes,” Jongdae was rather calm, but Yaël could see past the façade with ease. He knew that Jongdae was seething on the inside. “And King Kye III. of Tewomaseo, King of Cirrane, graciously lets us execute you.”
Kye watched the exchange with growing interest, he could tell that the traitor was a rampant Alpha, but the adviser did not back down in the slightest, quite the contrary. Once the traitor was tied to the chopping block, screaming, the personal guard moved suddenly. Unfortunately, he was facing away from the king, and he lifted his hood the slightest before he let it fall onto his shoulders. There was golden jewellery woven into the braided black hair and shaved sides and the braiding unfurled, falling to the guards’ hips. He reached under his cloak and pulled an intricate dagger from it, squatting down before the screaming man. The man fell silent in pure anguish once he set sight on the man glowering down at him. The man was emanating something so dark, that even Kye felt it and everyone around them.
“It was you who killed my men! No, no, no, no—get that mad dog away from me!” The prisoner suddenly whimpered, face red and eyes wide open in fear, tears running down his cheeks. “Oh God, please, no, get him away from me!” He struggled against the restraints and Kye was intrigued by what the man must’ve done to instil such a fear in a rather strong Alpha as the one to die. That’s when he knew, his soldiers had found one and a half dozen mutilated men at the scene of the crime and witnesses had spoken about one man killing all of them. He looked over to the royal adviser who had no emotion on his face; he had spoken of multiple men sent by his king, but apparently, the king had only sent one man? One man alone against that man trained and experienced mercenaries? How capable was the personal guard to go up against almost a dozen men alone and leave unscathed? Interesting. Such a man would make warfare so much easier.
A gloved hand shot out, grasping the greasy hair of the man on the block, yanking it upwards, forcing the man to look at him. He kept the grip on the hair while he walked around him until he came to a stillstand behind him and knelt again, the dagger pressing against his throat and the prisoner was begging for forgiveness.
What followed was even gruesome in Kye’s eyes, but he never lifted his eyes from the scene playing out in front of him. At the last moment, the personal guard flipped his dagger and used the rigged edge to cut open the man’s throat—Kye kept his eyes on the two men, fascinated. And he finally got a good look at the man’s face despite his lower half being covered by a black cloth. The face, barely distinguishable from all the black framing it, was sculpted by the gods, Kye was sure. The eyes were small but fierce, burning with ire, giving it an otherworldly hue, and there seemed to be a scar coming up from underneath the mask, his ears and bridge were pierced and Kye wondered if his face was just as decorated as the one of the royal adviser’s. What set him apart was not even the face tattoo that was similar but, in this case, almost only the natural hair colour. Makes one wonder which colour the king has.
But something of those eyes staring back at him while he was executing his own man, had something stirring in Kye and he got excited again, excited with want to have this so-called mad dog for himself.
The dead body dropping to the ground, awakened the king out of his stupor induced by this newfound fascination and his eyes went wider; he clapped his hand excited, “Fantastic, utterly mesmerising! Wonderful! Sehun was your name, right?”
The guard was still looking at him and looking around at the same time, something to the side caught his attention and his eyes twitched in apparent disgust before he looked back at the king. The king stood up again, briskly walking towards the two foreign men. Placing his fingers under the man’s chin, he forced his face up, “Mesmerising, really. Such a dream come true. I want you!”
The man stared at him, before he pulled one of the gloves off his hand, dripping with blood before reaching out for the king’s hand, but instead of swatting it away, he tapped in a specific pattern at the fingers.
“Your Majesty!” Someone cried and he was suddenly pulled away from the man. “This is a monster! It is a Cursed!”
Kye finally saw the blackened fingertips that had touched him, but he felt nothing of the burn that was supposed to come with the touch of the Cursed that was talked about in the fairy tales. But weren’t the Cursed a figment of imagination? The man was still kneeling, and his eyes turned up, smiling and even if he had no idea what the man looked like underneath the mask, he knew he was smiling widely; his crescent eyes gave it away. A hand on the personal guard’s shoulder finally broke the eye contact they had, and he looked up at the adviser whose eyes seemed to freeze everything around it.
“We’ve done our deed and we’re leaving the capital now; you won’t see us again.”
Everything after that went by in a flurry, his entourage keeping him from getting one last look at the man that intrigued him, who he wanted to dominate and have as his own for all eternity…
I kind of want to get fucked by him, his king was smiling behind his mask.
Jongdae stared at Yaël with disgust, before making gagging noises, “Only someone as mental as you would say that, honestly.”
For an alpha king, he’s pretty hot, and you were right, arrogant just the way I like it, even if a little bit too much, I give you that. He’s unbearable. He shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes, before pulling his hands down back to the reins.
Jongdae rolled his eyes, “Then you gotta hope his dick is as big as his arrogance…”
Yaël hiccupped from his choked laughs that had trouble travelling through his vocal cords.
“But I’m sorry for having given out your birth name, I couldn’t think fast enough…”
Yaël tapped his shoulder in assurance and shrugged his shoulders, they wouldn’t see King Kye again anyway.
They went back to the village that was being pillaged and Yaël pulled small packages from one saddle bag. He handed a few to Jongdae and they walked up to one house that was in the current state of being rebuilt. Yaël pulled his mask just under his nose and took a whiff before giving Jongdae a nod who hushed towards the door and left one of the packages near the door frame.
They continued this in more houses where traces of Gallig Ar Gorvig and his men were lingering. Until the last house before they left the village. The house wasn’t vacant, and they found a young pale woman sitting outside, embroidering a handkerchief. She looked miserable and Yaël felt bile rising in his throat. He looked over at Jongdae who seemed conflicted. They had hoped to not run into anyone on their little mission.
Jongdae exhaled noisily, before swallowing his spit and he knocked against the wooden garden door. The woman looked up startled and Yaël pulled back into the shadows, just out of view for the woman; he knew that he looked suspicious. “I’m sorry for the intrusion, young lady…”
She eyed Jongdae with wide suspicious eyes and he held up his hands to signal that he meant no harm. “We have heard what happened and feel deeply sorry for what has happened. I do not want to stir up gruesome memories so early, but…” He pulled the last package from his bag, “We want to hel—”
“What are you doing to my daughter, you disgusting mongrel!” Someone suddenly shouted and Yaël pulled further back.
Jongdae jolted, he caught himself relatively fast, “I mean no harm, we’re just here to help!”
“Get away from my daughter before I call the city guards, you strangers bring nothing but bad omens to us!” An angry-looking older woman emerged from the street, opposite the one Yaël and Jongdae travelled on.
“Those are herbs to help your daughter after what has been done to her!” Jongdae raised his voice slightly, stressed out already. Dealing with furies was never his strong suit, with any overly emotional creature for that matter.
“You just want to poison my daughter!” She hit after Jongdae.
“Mother! Let’s hear them out, please, stop hitting the man!” Her daughter rushed towards them, agitated.
“That’s because why you’ve been raped in the first place, you’re such a dumb gullible girl—”
This was enough and Yaël emerged from the shadows, holding her arm back when he saw that the woman was in the process of hitting her own daughter.
“Who are you?! Guards!” She cried out again and Yaël didn’t think about it twice when he pressed a nerve bundle on her neck, and she fell slack in his arms.
“Yaël, why would you do that?” Jongdae went white and the young woman clasped her hands over her mouth, taking a step backwards. Yaël, with his hands full, did his best to communicate with his hands.
I couldn’t let the fury hit her daughter after she already hit you! What kind of mother would accuse her daughter of this anyway? My mother would turn in her grave if she knew of something like that!
Before Jongdae could say something, the young woman suddenly spoke up, “You knocked her out because you’ve been afraid for someone you do not know?” She seemed confused, if not a little flustered. Yaël nodded aggressively at that, before gesturing widely at Jongdae, until—
You can read sign language?
She signed back, it seemed rusty, My younger brother is deaf-mute.
“We’re, he’s sorry for knocking your mother unconscious…” Jongdae reached over to smack Yaël across the head who had set down the unconscious woman on the ground. “And we can’t stay too long…” He looked over his shoulder and Yaël followed suit, the young woman, intrigued, looked in the same direction but saw nothing. “We have to leave soon. Brew this with hot water, let it steep for some time until the water turned cold, drink it, five days in a row and it makes sure, that, after what happened—”
Jongdae swallowed and Yaël took over, It makes sure you won’t be forced to live with what happened to you if something should grow inside you. We may not be able to heal your mental scars, but we help where we can. Please accept those herbs as a token of apology for something neither you nor we had control over.
He bowed deeply, Jongdae following suit. They didn’t give the woman more time to react, because Yaël was already mounting his horse, Jongdae following suit and he gave a last wave before they spurred their horses to a gallop, leaving behind a cloud of dust.
Someone stepped out of the shadows, watching the men ride off into the north of the sunset. And that was the last the king or the village heard and saw of the men ever again.
Just a day earlier, a considerable mixed group of travellers and two horse-drawn carriages came from the direction of the cursed forest and left in the direction the two men had left, up north.
Chanyeol, after doing his day’s work found himself waiting near the forest anxiously sitting on a boulder, but he had no idea who or what he was waiting for, it just had felt so natural to sit there and wait, that he went there. And now he did not know why.