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Chapter Text

The war had drained Caiston out of breath.

Its fields lay scorched, its walls broken, its people hollow-eyed with hunger and grief. Five relentless years had passed beneath the shadow of Kaelia’s might, and now, with each passing day, hope thinned like smoke on the wind. Still, Caiston’s royal family refused to kneel.

The invitation to negotiate was initiated by Kaelia, seemingly offering a glimmer of hope for a future where Caiston wouldn’t be completely obliterated. Anxin, Caiston’s 18-year-old Crown Prince, accompanied his father to attend the meeting with Kaelia’s monarchs. There stood Kaelia’s king, along with its new Crown Prince, Lee Leo, after the eldest prince was killed in battle.

The beginning of the discussion was nothing extraordinary. Kaelia agreed upon a ceasefire as long as Caiston agreed to withdraw troops and fully surrender their claims upon the border lands that they had invaded. In exchange, Kaelia had promised to hand over the previously captured captives, as well as help rebuild Caiston’s side of the border as a peace treaty.

Only one stumbling block remained. One that threatened to derail the whole peace process.

“My son, eldest son to be more specific, was killed by your men, by your order,” Lee Chansung, the king of Kaelia spoke, anger lacing his voice. “I demand retribution.”

"Your son was killed in battle," King Zhou of Caiston responded, equally fuming. "While I am sorry for your loss, I do not agree that this is a matter that requires retribution. Your son led the army that invaded our capital. Our men were defending our city."

"Still, justice will be done," Kaelia’s king insisted. "Prince Hyeop, the heir to my kingdom, is gone because of your insane actions. An eye for an eye! I demand you suffer the same way I have suffered."

“You must be delusional if you think for a moment that I will give up my son,” Caiston’s king angrily declared. Anxin sat quietly watching the exchange, now that the subject of the discussion had shifted to something concerning him. Would his father really have to give him up to the enemy in order for peace to be restored in their kingdom?

“And you are a fool if you think I need this treaty as much as you,” the king of Kaelia replied, this time somewhat calmly. “You are losing this war. If you don't agree to my terms, then we leave now and I'll spend the next ten years ripping your country apart and making sure there would be nothing left of Caiston to be remembered anymore.”

“Father, let me do it,” Anxin spoke softly, shifting uneasily in his seat. While he was deadly afraid of what Kaelia wanted out of him, he couldn't help but feel he should get some say in this matter. “Our people need this treaty.”

“Not you, you’re too young for this, Anxin,” his father shook his head, gaze softening at his son’s words. “We don’t know what they even want from you. For all we know, they could have you executed once you reach Kaelia.”

“But still, if my surrender ends this,” Anxin told his father, voice steady despite the tremble in his hands, “then let me be the one to stop the bleeding. Our people have suffered enough, let me put an end to all of this.”

“Then I demand to know what you plan on doing with my son,” Caiston’s king redirected his question towards the other king. “Our people will never accept peace at the price of their prince’s life. They will not sit idly by and allow him to be executed. While Caiston needs the peace arrangement, we would fight down to the last man rather than to see our prince sacrifice himself.”

“Noble words, Prince Anxin,” the advisor of Kaelia’s king applauded, somewhat ridiculing him. “I believe that an execution would be unnecessary, Your Highness. As sad as all of Kaelia is, Prince Hyeop has already left us and there’s nothing we can do to bring him back. I believe… Prince Anxin’s surrender would serve as a powerful symbol for Kaelia’s victory.”

“Indeed,” the king of Kaelia agreed with his right-hand man. “Prince Anxin shall serve as a slave to the Kaelian Royal Family. This will show Caiston’s willing submission and strengthen Kaelia’s status amongst the Northern Kingdoms. With this, no more blood should be shed, wouldn’t it be right?”

“Absolutely not,” Anxin saw his father refuse the terms almost instantly. “My son is not someone you could shove and order around. He is no slave and will not submit to a kingdom led by lunatics like you.”

“Father, it’s alright,” Anxin hung his head low, as if already accepting his fate. He didn’t want this option, and he was scared for his life, but he loved his kingdom and his people more than anything. If this could stop the war, then a slave to Kaelia he shall be. “I can’t have more of our men dying on the battlefield, not if I could stop it. We’ve lost enough of them, let’s not lose more.”

“Even young Prince Anxin acknowledges how important it is for you to agree,” the Kaelian king taunted. “What would it be, Zhou? Would you, or would you not, let your people continue to suffer? To live in poverty and hunger?”

“No, I would not allow this atrocity!” the king of Caiston refused once more, but Anxin could notice that his father’s resolve was starting to wane. “You will not humiliate my son and my kingdom like that.”

“It’s either this, or the war,” the king of Kaelia gave his final decision. “Your son or your people, choose wisely, Zhou. Either way, Kaelia doesn’t walk out of this negotiation with a loss.”

“Father, please let me have a say,” Anxin spoke more loudly this time. “These past five years, I've watched good men die and come close a couple of times myself. If it would finally end the fighting I would happily walk in front of a firing squad. My life isn't any more important than any other on the field of battle.”

"It is to me," King Zhou said, eyes locked on his son’s. "It is to me and it is to our family, and our people. You would make such a fine king one day-"

“And without this treaty, there might not be a Caiston for me to lead in the future,” Anxin reasoned with his father. “Father, I don’t want this anymore than you do, and I can’t lie and say that I’m not afraid, but please let me do it for our people.”

“Anxin, you’ll be a slave,” his father tried to reason back, but he saw that the young prince was already determined with his choice. “You’ll have no rights, nothing and no one there to protect you. Caiston had aberrated slavery for decades now, you’ve never seen how people treat slaves-”

“I have an idea of how that might be, Father,” Anxin sighed. “But am I not entitled to my own life? Shouldn’t it ultimately be my decision whether I wanted to surrender to Kaelia? Your Highness, King of Kaelia, I shall humbly represent my kingdom’s decision to agree with the terms of the peace agreement.”

With his words, Anxin fell on his knees in front of the Kaelian Royal Family, letting himself be shackled by the guards who were going to take him away from his family. He took one last look at his father, smiling sadly, bidding a silent farewell. He glanced back at the negotiation room, locking eyes with Prince Leo, who had stayed silent during the whole discussion.

Chapter Text

The carriage ride home was uncomfortable for Prince Leo. He sat silently across his father, restless due to knowing the prisoner that was riding the carriage behind theirs. Leo had expected more fight from Caiston’s royal family on keeping their Crown Prince. He didn't expect to see Anxin easily surrender, easily accepting this fate for a glimpse of hope that his kingdom would one day recover. Leo admired him for that.

“Father, this isn't right,” Leo sighed, gathering enough courage to argue against his father now that they were alone. “He's a child. You’ve taken a boy barely grown and called it peace.”

“He's eighteen, and he accepted the terms of the treaty himself,” his father smugly said. “Peace is never bought with mercy, Leo, you should learn that sooner or later.”

“Then give him to me,” Leo demanded. “I have been planning to re-shuffle my personal staff anyways.”

“You’re too soft on him,” his father refused. “He’s no guest of ours, and you should see him that way.“

“No, I fully understand what you mean, Father,” Leo answered. “In fact, wouldn’t it be quite the symbol? Having Caiston’s Crown Prince submit to Kaelia’s own. I’ll prove to you that I am no longer young and naive, Father. I may not be as mature as Hyeop yet, but I will try to exercise the authority given to me. Wouldn’t it be wise to start with our prisoner?”

In reality, what he had just said couldn’t be even further than what he had in mind. During the negotiation, he locked eyes once with Caiston’s Crown Prince, Anxin, right after his father’s verdict was announced. Leo could tell that Anxin was putting up a facade, in order to look strong in front of his kingdom and his own father. All that Leo could see behind the younger prince’s eyes was fear.

So Leo did the only thing he could. With his demand that Anxin be assigned to his personal quarters, he could at least keep the boy safe enough under his watch. He had seen the looks that his father’s advisors and royal guards gave Anxin—sharp as blades, hungry with vengeance. If he let Anxin be at the mercy of the court,  someone would break him within the week.

“Very well, Leo, I will be counting on you then,” his father nodded, and they resumed their journey back home in silence.

-

The ride to Kaelia was suffocating. The prince of Caiston, once carried in litters of silk and gold, now sat shackled inside a plain carriage, his wrists bound though his spirit remained unbroken. Outside, the people stared as the carriages rolled past—the first carried the victorious Kaelian royals, and behind them, the Caistonian prisoner who had surrendered his crown for peace.

Inside the palace, Anxin’s presence drew whispers like shadows clinging to the walls. The staff sneered at the silk-clad foreigner, their disdain sharp as knives. A steward tossed folded cloth into his arms, plain and coarse.

“Change,” he said coldly. “And don’t take too long. We don’t have all day for you.”

Anxin stood frozen, fingers trembling over the fabrics, before he was ushered into a side chamber to change. The silks of Caiston fell from his shoulders in silence, leaving him draped in rough-spun cloth that smelled faintly of dust. The weight of the humiliation pressed heavy on his chest, but he lifted his chin, refusing to bow to their cruelty.

His reflection in the polished brass mirror startled him. Gone was the bright figure of Caiston’s court; before him stood a hollowed shadow in rough-spun cloth, collar stiff against his throat, sleeves too coarse against his wrists. The mirror did not lie. His crown was invisible now, his bloodline erased by fabric.

When he emerged, a young attendant of Leo’s approached, bowing slightly out of respect that few others showed.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Prince Leo demanded for you,” he had said. “He’s waiting in his chambers, it would be best to join him immediately if you’re done changing clothes.”

-

Every step toward Prince Leo’s chambers tightened the knot of fear inside of Anxin. He was immediately thinking about the worst possible things that might happen to him: the pain and humiliation that he would have to endure. By the time the door loomed before him, his knees nearly buckled beneath the weight of dread. He had little to no time to compose himself as the guards pushed him forward, and the heavy doors shut behind him.

Prince Leo was sitting on a loveseat in front of his fireplace. Anxin fell to his knees at once, pressing his forehead to the cold stone floor. “Your Highness,” he whispered, voice unsteady, “I am yours to command.”

“You don’t have to kneel in front of me, Anxin,” Leo said, with a gentleness that Anxin was not expecting. He gathered his courage to take a glance at the Kaelian’s prince, surprised to find the older prince smiling at him warmly. “I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

Leo suddenly stood up, leaving Anxin still sitting on his floor. He went back with a long wooden rod, a symbol made out of iron was glimmering on one of its ends. “You know what this is, don’t you, Anxin?” Leo asked carefully. Anxin, full of fear, swallowed hard, forcing himself to nod.

“I demanded father to keep you to myself, and they’re expecting me to brand you,” Leo sighed, bringing the branding iron closer so that Anxin could see Kaelia’s royal crest formed from the iron. “Do not worry, I don’t plan on doing so.”

“I don’t deserve Your Highness’ mercy,” Anxin decided to speak. “Would you get in trouble for not doing what they expect you to do to me?”

“Let them assume that I’ve done it to you,” Leo said. “I can never bring myself to hurt you myself, Anxin. I didn’t want all this to happen, father made the decision without consulting with me. The least I could do is try to keep you as safe as you can here.”

“I will serve you as best I can,” Anxin lowered his head out of respect. He did not expect Leo’s treatment towards him, and what Leo had just said, something told him that it would be alright to trust in what Leo had said.

“Can you help me with something?” Leo asked, changing the subject with a surprising ease.

Anxin blinked. “...Help?”

“My room. It’s a mess,” Leo admitted with a small shrug. “If you could tidy it, that would be enough for today.”

“Yes, Your Highness. Of course.”

-

Anxin rose slowly from the floor, bowing his head as he moved to the corner of the chamber. Leo’s room was not truly in disarray—at least, not compared to the chaos of a servant’s quarters—but to his anxious eyes, it was a mountain of work. Books stacked haphazardly across the desk, garments draped over the chair, a goblet left forgotten on the windowsill.

He hesitated, unsure if he should touch anything without permission. His fingers lingered above the first stack of parchment before he dared to look back at Leo.

Leo gave him a single nod encouragingly. “Go ahead.”

That small reassurance was enough. Anxin worked quietly, the silence filled with the sound of shifting fabric and paper. He moved with practiced grace, each movement precise, though his hands trembled faintly. Every so often he dared a glance at the prince, but Leo had not taken his eyes off him—not with suspicion, not with cold appraisal, but with a thoughtful, steady gaze that seemed to weigh far more than words.

When Anxin lifted the goblet from the sill, he felt the warmth of the sun still clinging to the metal. It reminded him of the Aerlynian palace, of days where golden light streamed into marble halls and freedom had been his birthright. His chest tightened. The weight of loss pressed on him all over again.

“Careful,” Leo’s voice broke through his thoughts as Anxin nearly dropped the cup.

Anxin froze in shock. “Forgive me, Your Highness.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Leo stood, crossing the chamber. His steps were unhurried, deliberate, until he stopped just beside Anxin. The proximity made Anxin’s pulse race, but all Leo did was take the goblet from his hands, setting it gently aside. “But be a little bit more careful, alright? Outside of my chambers, they’re not quite as kind.”

-

When Anxin finished tidying the last of Leo’s garments, his body sagged faintly with exhaustion. He hadn’t realized how tense every muscle had been since stepping into the chamber. His hands folded before him, waiting in silence for Leo’s next command.

Leo, however, did not issue one. Instead, he crossed to a small table where a silver pitcher and two cups stood. He poured water into one, then turned and held it out.

Anxin blinked. The gesture was so simple, so ordinary, and yet—utterly unthinkable. Slaves did not drink from their master’s pitcher. For a heartbeat he stood frozen, his gaze darting between the offered cup and Leo’s face.

“It’s just water,” Leo said gently. “Drink. You’ve had a long day.”

“You’re being really kind to me, Your Highness,” Anxin bowed, taking the cup that Leo offered him carefully. “I don’t deserve this.”

“You’ve been dragged from your homeland, stripped of your freedom, and made to kneel,” Leo sighed. “But do not think for a moment that makes you less human. When you’re with me, at the very least, allow yourself to feel human again.”

Anxin’s throat burned. Slowly, almost reverently, he accepted the cup. The cool water slipped past his lips, easing the dryness in his throat. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“Just Leo is fine, when it’s only the two of us,” Leo smiled, before going back to his study, leaving Anxin to do whatever he wanted to for a while.

Chapter Text

Word spread fast in the palace halls. Servants whispered while sweeping, guards murmured while patrolling—the Caistonian prince, now reduced to a mere slave, had been given over to Prince Leo. Some pitied him, others scoffed at his fall from grace, but all were curious.

Prince Sangwon, Leo’s younger brother, was no exception. Though he masked it beneath a lazy grin, curiosity gnawed at him until he slipped away from his lessons and padded down the quiet corridor where Leo’s chamber servants worked.

That was when he saw him.

Anxin was bent over a basin, carefully rinsing silks and folding them with meticulous care. His dark hair clung damply to his neck, his hands moving with a grace that belied the task’s humility. There was no trace of the proud prince he must have once been; only a figure who bore his shame in silence, head bowed to work. He did not notice Sangwon at the threshold, nor the way Sangwon’s mischievous eyes lingered on his face a moment too long.

Sangwon went to his brother’s study not too long after. He found Leo hunched over rolls of scrolls on his desk, drowning himself in work. Sangwon took a seat across from him.

“The Caistonian prince, Anxin, he’s prettier than I expected,” Sangwon mused at last, lips quivering with a sly grin. “Do you think he’ll let me talk to him?”

Leo rolled his eyes. “He’s not a toy, Sangwon.”

“No,” his brother replied, “but he’s interesting. And I want to know what kind of prince gives himself up to save his kingdom.”

Leo didn’t answer. Because deep down, he wanted to know that too.

-

The next morning, Anxin was polishing the silver handles of the north gallery doors when he felt someone watching him.

Not with suspicion, like most of the palace staff.
Not with scrutiny, like the nobles who passed him in tight-lipped silence.

This gaze was lighter. Brighter. Almost… amused. He braved himself to turn.

Prince Sangwon stood a few paces away, arms folded behind his back, dressed in soft cream silk and deep navy robes—too fine for a casual morning walk, but clearly worn with carelessness. His dark hair was windswept, eyes alert with a glimmer of mischief, as if he had wandered here on a whim and decided to stay just because it felt interesting.

“So it’s true,” Sangwon said, grinning. “You really do shine doorknobs.”

Anxin blinked, not knowing how to respond to Sangwon’s banter. He bowed, greeting the prince politely. “Your Highness.”

“Mm, I prefer just Sangwon.” He stepped forward, not waiting for permission. “The ‘Your Highness’ thing makes me sound like a crusty old courtier.”

“I think it’s meant as a sign of respect.”

“Yes, well, Leo insists on it too, and he’s the crustiest of all,” Sangwon said with a sigh. “But you can make an exception for me.”

Anxin didn’t answer. He bent again to continue polishing, but his movements were a touch slower—more cautious.

Sangwon crouched beside him, watching with open fascination. “Will you be doing this every morning?”

“Only when I’m assigned here,” Anxin answered hesitantly. He was supposed to be Leo’s personal servant, but the palace staff needed a hand with cleaning and it was easy to push around the new slave to help. “I serve your brother, mostly.”

“I hope Leo’s treating you well,” Sangwon smiled.

“Prince Leo has been very kind to me, Your Highn- I mean- Sangwon,” Anxin whispered in the last part of his sentence, afraid that someone would hear him call the second prince by name. 

A servant passed by and slowed when she saw the scene—her eyes flicked between them, narrowed in disapproval, and quickly moved on. Anxin stiffened slightly.

“You don’t have to talk to me if it puts you in trouble,” Anxin said quietly.

“I’m the second prince of Kaelia,” Sangwon replied with mock offense. “If they’re going to scold anyone, it should be me.”

“That won’t stop them from whispering.”

Sangwon considered this, then shrugged. “Let them. You’re interesting, Anxin. And I’ve decided to like you.”

The boldness of it made Anxin freeze. He glanced at the prince again, puzzled.

“Why?” he asked.

Sangwon rocked back on his heels. “I don’t know, but my feelings told me that you would be a wonderful person to be around, Anxin. I hope that my feelings are right, then.”

Anxin didn’t know how to respond to that.

But long after Sangwon had wandered off—humming some aimless tune, sleeves fluttering like wings—Anxin found himself still thinking about it.

-

The fireplace crackled softly, casting long shadows across the prince’s study. It was late—too late for court business—but Leo wasn’t ready to sleep. He sat near the hearth, nursing a glass of wine, watching the boy from Caiston glide silently across the room.

Anxin moved like a ghost. Quiet footsteps. Careful hands. Not once had he spoken unless directly addressed. Not once had he met Leo’s eyes unless permission was clear. He was obedience made flesh. And Leo hated it.

“You can sit down, you know,” Leo said at last, his voice cutting gently through the stillness. “I’m not your master. Well, maybe on paper, but believe me that I’ve never wanted you to go through what you are going through right now.”

Anxin froze, a folded cloth still in hand. Slowly, uncertainly, he looked up. “It’s still hard wrapping my head around all of this,” Anxin replied. “What’s on paper and what you told me last night, Your Highness. I’m not really sure what I am anymore.”

“You’re still yourself, no matter what they say about you,” Leo told him. “Sit next to me, Anxin. You don’t have to be afraid when it’s only the two of us.”

Anxin obeyed, slowly, folding himself onto the cushioned chair like he didn’t quite trust it. He looked out of place in the warm room, still dressed in muted grays, sleeves too long, collar too tight. But he held his posture like a prince.

“Tell me something about yourself,” Leo said, while covering Anxin’s body with a soft blanket. “You always listen, but you never talk. I want to know what your life was like. Before all this.”

“Do you have anything you’re particularly curious about?” Anxin asked softly.

“What do you do in your free time?” Leo asked.

“I rarely had them,” Anxin smiled at the thought of his fond memories back in Caiston. “When I did, I mostly painted. When the weather is nice out, I'll take my horse on a ride. Sometimes, I’d check in with the garden staff. My mother was especially fond of our gardens.”

“She used to grow white lilies,” he continued slowly. “Said they were the only flowers brave enough to bloom during Caiston’s storms.”

Leo’s brow furrowed. “That’s not true. Lilies are delicate.”

“She never said they’d survive the storms,” Anxin murmured. “Only that they’d try.”

Leo’s chest tightened at that. It was the first time Anxin had said anything personal, anything real. He watched the boy closely—the way his fingers absently traced the hem of his sleeve, how his shoulders were still slightly hunched, but his gaze no longer dropped to the floor.

He’s still trying , Leo thought.
Just like the lilies.

“It’s only been two days here, but you must miss home,” Leo concluded sadly.

“Every hour, of course,” Anxin answered.

“I can’t do much, but I’ll see if I can get you something from Caiston, to remind you of home,” Leo promised him.

“You don’t have to do that,” Anxin was surprised by Leo’s offer. Even being kind to him might get Leo scorned by the court and the palace staff, and especially his father. He definitely did not expect the prince to go beyond that to get him a piece of home. Leo’s promise started something warm in his heart.

“But I’ll still try,” Leo smiled, meaning every single word that he had said. “Least I can do to make this situation a little less bad for you.”

Chapter Text

It happened during the mid-day banquet preparations, where all the palace staff was busy going here and there to prepare the tables, as well as food for the royals and nobles. The banquet hall glittered with gold and candlelight, but for Anxin, every step felt like walking on thin ice. He carried the crystal wine pitcher carefully, the liquid inside rippling with each movement.

One misstep. The floors had just been polished; the soles of his worn shoes slipped. The tray clattered to the marble. One goblet shattered. Red wine bloomed like blood across the pristine floor. Silence fell in the hall.

Anxin dropped to his knees at once, murmuring apologies, reaching for the broken shards with bare hands. The head steward hissed, grabbed his wrist, and yanked him upright.

His punishment was swift, the king saw no need for subtlety. Especially not when punishing a slave that had just made a mistake.

“Take him,” the king ordered, his voice flat and deadly. “Ten lashes. Let this be a lesson to every servant here.”

Leo rose from his chair, rage flickering behind his composed face. “Father—”

“Do not forget who he is,” his father said sharply. “And do not forget where your loyalties lie.”

Leo’s jaw tightened. He said nothing more. He couldn’t afford to say more.

Sangwon looked on from his seat, lips pressed into a thin, uncertain line. His knuckles whitened beneath the tablecloth, but he too stayed silent.

Later, when Anxin was led to the punishment chamber, neither of the princes were present. But both heard the faint echoes of the whip cracking.

-

The courtyard was lit only by torches, their flames bending in the wind. The guards shoved Anxin forward until he was standing before a wooden post.

“Hands,” one barked.

Anxin raised them without protest. The rope bit into his wrists as they bound him to the post, his cheek pressing against the rough wood.

He could feel the eyes of the court — nobles, soldiers, servants — all watching. Judging. Waiting for the first blow.

The whip cracked through the air. The leather tore across his back, a searing line of fire. His body jolted, but he bit down on his cry.

“Don’t scream. Don’t give them the satisfaction,” Anxin told himself, enduring the pain.

The second lash came harder. His breath caught, sharp and shallow.

The third sent a hot trickle of blood down his spine. His vision blurred, not from tears — he wouldn’t let them fall — but from the pounding in his skull.

The fourth lash ripped another gasp from him, one he couldn’t stifle. His knees threatened to buckle, but the ropes held him upright.

By the fifth, the pain had blurred into a strange, distant throb, but each strike still clawed through his skin like fire. He was barely conscious when they had reached the tenth and final lash.

When they finally cut him down, his back was a lattice of raw welts and torn flesh. The world tilted, the torches smearing into streaks of light. Two guards dragged him away, and the crowd dispersed like nothing had happened.

Somewhere far away, the music of the banquet began again.

-

That night, the palace was quiet. The sky was moonless. Lanterns flickered low in the corridors.

Anxin lay curled on the narrow servant cot in the corner of Leo’s chambers, his body trembling despite the blanket. The back of his tunic had been cut away and left hanging loose. Blood had dried along his spine. He hadn’t made a sound when the blows fell, but now, beneath the safety of shadow, his tears ran freely. Silently. As if even now, he wasn’t allowed to cry out loud.

The door opened with a quiet creak.

He flinched, eyes wide with fear, expecting another guard, another command — but the figure who slipped inside moved too quietly, too cautiously.

“Ssh,” came the voice. Gentle. Familiar.

It was Sangwon.

The prince shut the door behind him, the flicker of a small oil lamp casting gold over his face. His eyes — usually bright, almost mischievous — were dark with something heavy, something Anxin had never seen before.

He stepped in barefoot, carrying a small basin of warm water, a clean cloth, and a tin of salve. He closed the door behind him without a sound, walked over, and knelt beside the cot.

“I didn’t know it would be like that,” Sangwon whispered. “I didn’t think—he would go that far.”

Anxin said nothing, only turned his face toward the wall.

“I… I shouldn’t be here,” Sangwon admitted, setting down the basin. “But I couldn’t sleep. I just kept thinking—if it had been me, I would’ve dropped the tray too.”

Anxin sniffled quietly. His voice was faint. “You would’ve been forgiven.”

The truth of that stung more than it should have.

“I brought this,” Sangwon said, gently reaching for the cloth. “It’s not much. I’ve never done this before. But if you’ll let me…”

Anxin hesitated, then gave the smallest nod.

Sangwon began cleaning the wounds with slow, careful hands—his expression unusually serious, his usual playful energy dimmed to a quiet tenderness. He didn’t speak again, and neither did Anxin.

“I should have stopped him,” Sangwon said finally. His voice cracked, almost imperceptibly. “I should have—”

“You couldn’t,” Anxin interrupted, opening his eyes. “If you tried, you would’ve been punished too.”

“That’s not an excuse.” Sangwon’s hands stilled for a moment. “When he ordered them to whip you… I’ve never hated him more.”

Once Sangwon was done cleaning his wounds, he unpacked a small bundle of linen and a jar of salve. When the first touch of the ointment met Anxin’s torn skin, he hissed despite himself.

“Sorry,” Sangwon whispered, his voice low but raw. “I’ll be gentle.”

They didn’t speak for a while — only the sound of Sangwon’s careful work, the faint clink of the jar, the slow drag of linen over wounds. Anxin kept his eyes closed, letting the warmth of the salve ease some of the pain.

Then, Sangwon resumed wrapping the bandages, slower this time, almost as though afraid the linen itself might hurt. When he finished, he stayed kneeling beside the bed. His hand lingered against Anxin’s shoulder, warm and grounding.

“I’ll be here,” Sangwon said, his voice steady again. “As long as it takes for you to heal. And after that… I’ll still be here.”

-

The next morning, Leo noticed it the moment he stepped into his chambers.

The basin was missing. So was the bloodied tunic Anxin had worn. His cot had been tidied—more gently than usual—and a faint trace of lavender hung in the air. Most telling of all: Anxin was sitting upright, shoulders tense but bandaged with unexpected precision.

Someone had tended to him.

Leo crossed the room slowly, studying the boy’s posture. Anxin didn't meet his gaze, didn’t flinch, but his eyes were distant—glassy with exhaustion. The softest ring of purple shadowed the skin beneath them.

“Who helped you?” Leo asked quietly.

Anxin hesitated. “A servant,” he answered, voice barely above a whisper.

Leo frowned. “Which one?”

“I didn’t ask.”

That was unlike him. Anxin was usually polite to a fault, always acknowledging every gesture with calm gratitude. For him not to ask… he must have been in more pain than he’d let on.

Leo exhaled slowly, stepping closer. “I should’ve stopped it.”

Anxin said nothing.

“I could’ve found another way,” Leo continued, sitting across from him, guilt crawling through his chest like thorns. “Diverted the attention. Intervened through the steward. But I just stood there.”

“You stood there,” Anxin replied gently, “because you had to.”

Leo looked up, startled by the softness in the words. “You’re defending me?”

“I’m understanding you.”

Leo rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t give you what you had before. Your title. Your freedom. Your home. And I hate that.” He looked Anxin straight in the eyes. “But I can promise this—no one will touch you again.”

Anxin’s fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the blanket. “I don't expect kindness.”

“Then you’ll just have to get used to it,” Leo smiled. “Especially from me.”

For the first time since the punishment, a faint smile touched Anxin’s lips—so fleeting, it might have only existed in Leo’s memory. But it was the most beautiful smile that Leo had ever seen, and he’d make sure that he’d be able to see that beautiful smile more.

Chapter Text

The sun was high, flooding the outer corridor with light, but inside the gallery, the air was dim and stifling. Dust clung to every carved crevice of the molding. Anxin, cloth in hand, was carefully dusting the higher reaches of the wooden paneling, his movements slow—too slow.

Sangwon leaned against the archway in silence, watching him from the shadows.

Anxin was hiding his pain well, but Sangwon noticed it: the subtle flinching every time he stretched, the way he paused between movements, as though measuring out every inch of his strength. The bandages beneath Anxin’s clothes shifted each time he reached above his head.

Sangwon bit his lip.

He waited until one of the older staff passed down the hallway and turned the corner before stepping in.

“You’re not healed,” Sangwon said softly, awfully close to Anxin’s ear.

Anxin startled and turned, clutching the cloth tighter.

“Your Highness—”

“Ssh, ssh, I told you, no titles here,” Sangwon whispered, glancing over his shoulder. “Don’t make a scene.”

He walked up beside him, grabbing a second cloth off the cleaning cart and reaching to help dust the panels just above Anxin’s shoulder.

Anxin frowned. “You shouldn’t be doing that.”

“I know. It’s scandalous.” Sangwon smirked. “The second prince of Kaelia caught dusting woodwork. What a tragedy.”

“You’ll get in trouble.”

“I get in trouble all the time,” Sangwon said with a wink. “It’s practically a hobby of mine.”

Anxin turned away slightly, resuming his work—but Sangwon noticed he was being more careful now, angling himself so Sangwon wouldn’t have to see how stiff his movements had become.

Sangwon softened his voice. “Why didn’t you tell someone it still hurts?”

Anxin didn’t answer at first. His tone was neutral when he finally said, “It wouldn’t change anything.”

Sangwon was quiet for a moment, cloth moving idly in his hand. “Let me carry the tray next time.”

Anxin looked at him sharply. “That’s not your job.”

“No, but neither is watching you bleed.”

Anxin’s expression darkened, and he returned to wiping without a word.

Sangwon sighed. “You still don’t trust me.”

“Should I?” Anxin asked, not unkindly—just tired. “Outside of Prince Leo, my master, you’re the only person who treats me with even an ounce of respect in this palace. You can’t tell me that you’re not expecting something out of him, can you?”

Sangwon leaned his head against the wall for a second, exasperated. “I brought you salve and warm water in the middle of the night. I didn’t even stay long enough for you to say thank you.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re not waiting for something else.”

The words weren’t accusatory. They were simply honest, worn from experience.

Sangwon stood still, surprised at how much those words stung.

“…Then let me prove that I’m not,” he said finally. “Let me help you without expecting anything. I won’t even talk if you don’t want me to.”

Anxin looked at him, eyes narrowed slightly, skeptical but not closed.

“…Then don’t talk,” he murmured.

Sangwon smiled.

“Deal.”

So they cleaned in silence for a while—side by side, cloths in hand, sweat beginning to bead at their brows. Neither of them looked directly at the other, but something tentative was settling into place. Not trust. Not yet.

But something.

-

It was late afternoon when the rain started.

It came suddenly, in thick sheets, drumming against the palace roof and turning the courtyards into rivers. Servants scurried to pull down the tapestries hung out for airing, calling to each other over the roar of water.

Anxin had been sent out to the garden terrace to fetch a forgotten scroll basket—light enough work, something the steward likely thought wouldn’t strain his still-healing back. But the moment he stepped outside, the wind caught the door and slammed it shut behind him.

He managed to grab the scrolls, but by the time he returned to the hall, his sleeves were soaked and his hair clung to his skin.

He didn’t knock. He couldn’t—not with his hands full.

So he stood there, dripping quietly in the empty hallway, unsure if the door would open.

And then it did.

Sangwon blinked in surprise when he found Anxin standing there like a drowned cat, scrolls clutched protectively against his chest.

“I wasn’t planning to swim,” Anxin said, deadpan.

Sangwon let out a small laugh before reaching out. “Give me those.”

He took the scrolls without waiting for permission and stepped aside, guiding Anxin into the corridor. “You’re freezing. Come in.”

Anxin hesitated. “This isn’t your wing.”

“I was waiting out the rain. Apparently for you.”

Sangwon pulled him toward an alcove behind the stairs—an unused niche with a stone bench and old velvet curtains. From the folds of his jacket, he produced a neatly folded linen cloth.

“You keep towels with you now?” Anxin asked, raising a brow.

“I hoped I’d run into you.”

That made Anxin freeze. His breath hitched slightly, just for a second.

Sangwon noticed. He stepped back. “You don’t have to talk. I can just sit here and pretend I’m drying off a stranger.”

Anxin didn’t move.

Sangwon dropped the towel into Anxin’s hands gently and sat on the bench, arms resting across his knees. The sound of rain thudded against the windows.

“I’ve been a prince all my life,” Sangwon said after a moment. “But I never understood what it meant. Not really. Leo… even when Hyeop was still here, he carries that honor like an armor. I wore it like a costume.”

He glanced at Anxin, who stood silently drying his hair.

“I don’t know how to fix anything. I don’t know how to end wars, or protect anyone. But I want to understand what you’ve been through.”

Anxin lowered the towel. His expression was unreadable. “Why?”

Sangwon thought for a moment before answering. “Because you intrigue me, Anxin, and while I’m glad that Leo’s been nice to you, it wouldn’t hurt to have someone else looking out for you, no? I just don’t want you feeling alone here.”

That silence again. The rain was still pouring. Breath still shallow.

Anxin sat down beside him slowly, towel across his lap, body still damp and shivering—but not pulling away.

“You’re strange,” he said, voice quiet.

Sangwon smiled. “I hear that a lot.”

“I’m not used to kindness that doesn’t ask for something.”

“I’m not used to someone expecting me to ask for something.”

They sat like that for a while—quiet, but not uncomfortable. Close, but not touching.

And though Anxin still didn’t trust him, fully…
He didn’t want him to leave, either.

-

After drying himself and changing into a set of fresh clothes, Anxin decided to join Leo in his study. Knowing Leo, even up until midnight, his study would still be well lit and bustling with work.

Stacks of reports cluttered the desk—military logistics, food inventories, complaints from nobles about the ceasefire, threats whispered from border towns still bitter with blood. Leo sat slouched over them, ink-stained fingers pressed to his temple, jaw tight, eyes sharp but heavy.

He hadn’t moved in hours.

Anxin lingered by the door, uncertain.

The prince’s shoulders were hunched, his coat discarded carelessly on the floor. A half-finished meal sat cold beside his elbow, untouched.

He doesn’t even notice I’m here , Anxin thought to himself.

He stood frozen for a moment, torn. It wasn’t his place. He wasn’t Leo’s friend. He wasn’t even his servant by choice.

But still—

Quietly, Anxin moved to the coat first. He picked it up and draped it neatly over the nearby chair. Then he approached the desk, eyes flicking over the mess. Leo’s brow was furrowed deeply now, lips pressed tight.

“You haven’t eaten,” Anxin said softly.

Leo didn’t look up. “Didn’t have time.”

“Then make time.”

That made Leo glance at him—tired, startled. It wasn’t the tone he expected. Anxin’s voice was still gentle, but it held a firmness that hadn’t been there before.

“I brought you tea,” Anxin added, placing a fresh cup on the desk beside the plate. “And a cloth for your eyes. You’ve been staring at ink too long.”

Leo blinked. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know.”

For a second, Leo just stared at him—this quiet boy with eyes too deep and hands too careful, who had endured more than most men thrice his age, and yet was standing here offering him warmth.

“You’re sweet,” Leo said before he could stop himself.

Anxin stilled.

Leo’s voice lowered. “You didn’t want to say anything, did you? You were afraid it would be overstepping.”

Anxin gave a faint nod. “I didn’t know what you’d allow.”

Leo leaned back in his chair, exhaling softly. “I’d allow this. I’d allow you.”

The silence between them thickened, not uncomfortable, but charged with something unspoken.

Anxin looked down at the teacup, then to Leo’s hand. Gently, he reached for it and guided it to the cup.

Leo let him.

Their fingers brushed for only a second—but it left something warm behind, something neither of them named.

“Drink,” Anxin said quietly. Leo obeyed. He let Anxin take care of him. It was rewarding for Leo to see the boy warming up and starting to trust him more.

Chapter Text

Days had passed since his surrender. While the palace still felt like a prison to Anxin, things got a little bit better. Maybe, maybe he just adapted fairly quickly. Maybe he stopped caring when people looked at him lowly. They called him names— one of their favorites being “prince’s pet” — but it was more plausible for him to tune out their sneers. Anxin had learned to just breathe through them.

Once his back was fully healed, Anxin was back to doing his tasks. Leo hadn’t been demanding, mostly because the prince was afraid that Anxin was still in a little bit of pain. He mostly asked him to accompany him during nights where he had to stay up working, not even caring if the Caistonian boy fell asleep in one of his armchairs. Anxin once woke up covered in Leo’s blanket, confused because of this.

Sometimes, the palace staff would order him to do errands outside of Leo’s commands. Anxin didn’t mind the extra work, not really. Most of the time, it was to help them clean a particularly large banquet hall, or lend an extra hand when laundry day gets too much. Anxin wasn’t raised having to do manual labor, but he learned quickly.

When the chance came for Anxin to leave the palace—just for a morning errand in the city market—he took it. One of the kitchen ladies had offered him kindly if he wanted to join the others to shop for ingredients for that day’s lunch. Anxin, hoping for a change of scenery, almost immediately agreed and promised to help them carry the items later.

The air outside of the palace was brisk, carrying the scent of bread and horses and wet cobblestones. He kept his head down, walking behind the others, the basket clutched to his side. It was strange being among crowds again. He hadn’t realized how much the silence of the palace had dulled him. Here, there were voices—messy and loud and alive. Vendors shouting, children laughing, dogs barking through alleyways. For a heartbeat, he remembered what it felt like to belong to a living world.

He followed the ladies around the market, to stalls offering colorful vegetables and various spices, even ones he had never seen during his time in Caiston. Arms laden with baskets of spices and dried fish, Anxin trailed after them, his eyes wandering over the chaos. He paused when a sweet, warm scent drifted through the air. At the corner stall, a vendor was skewering golden pastries, their honey glaze glistening beneath the sun. He slowed, lips parting unconsciously, his gaze fixed on the sweets.

“You’ve got a sweet tooth, hm?” one of the kitchen women teased, noticing the way his steps faltered. “But no coins in those pockets, I wager.”

Anxin flushed and shook his head quickly. He hadn’t even dared to ask. But the woman’s face softened. With a quick word to the merchant, she bought a small paper twist of the pastries and pressed it into his hands.

His eyes widened. “For me?”

“Go on, eat it. You look too skinny anyway,” she said gruffly, though the smile tugging at her mouth betrayed her.

Anxin took a hesitant bite. The sweetness burst across his tongue, sticky and warm, and his chest tightened. Other than Leo and Sangwon’s rare kindness, no one had treated him like this—not as a prince, not as a prisoner, but simply as a boy. The kitchen staff laughed when his expression softened into a smile, whispering among themselves at how young and adorable he seemed beneath all his reserve.

They moved on, weaving through the crowd of vendors, and Anxin followed, still nibbling at the pastry. That was when his gaze snagged on a figure across the square.

For a heartbeat, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him. But no—he knew that face, even thinner and dirtier than he remembered. His breath caught in his throat.

“Jiahao?”

His voice cracked as he said it, and the name cut through the noise of the marketplace. The boy at the auction block snapped his head up. Shackled at the wrists, a rope tight around his shoulders, Jiahao’s eyes widened the instant they found Anxin. Hope, desperate and raw, flared across his face. He moved, straining forward, his lips parting to call out—

Only to be yanked back by the merchant’s rough hand, the chain at his wrists pulled taut.

“Jiahao!” Anxin dropped the basket in his arms, stumbling toward him before he could think.

“Stop!” One of the kitchen ladies grabbed his sleeve, yanking him back with surprising strength. “Are you mad? If you cause a scene, we’ll all be punished!”

“I have to—he’s—” Anxin’s voice broke, his eyes still locked on Jiahao’s.

But the kitchen staff held him firmly, hissing desperate warnings into his ear, dragging him back into the anonymity of the crowd. His body trembled with the effort of resisting, but he was powerless against their grip.

Jiahao’s figure shrank in the distance as they hurried him away. His eyes were still on Anxin, wide and aching, until the press of the market swallowed him whole.

The rest of the trip back to the palace passed in silence. The kitchen women chatted over bargains and prices, but Anxin trailed behind with his arms heavy, his hands empty. Even the lingering sweetness of the pastry had turned bitter on his tongue.

-

Anxin returned back to the palace with a new-found silence. He had always been quiet, making himself unnoticeable enough to not draw wicked attention from the royals and nobles around him. But this- there was something different about him, and Leo noticed it within minutes of their next meeting. The way Anxin’s hands shook slightly as he poured tea. The tightness in his shoulders. The fact that he kept flinching at every knock on the door, every footstep in the corridor.

He wasn’t just tired. He was afraid. And Leo did not know what had caused such a reaction to appear from Anxin. Were any of his servants being mean to him?

Leo set down his pen. “What happened?” he asked firmly, although not unkindly.

Anxin didn’t look at him. “Nothing, Your Highness,” the boy answered with shaky words.

Leo raised a brow. “Don’t call me that when you’re lying,” Leo scolded him. “Someone’s said something, haven’t they? One of the servants?” he asked again, voice hardened. “Tell me who it was, and I’ll see to it they never bother you again.”

Anxin’s throat tightened. He wanted to shake his head, to swallow the truth like he always did. But the earnest fire in Leo’s gaze made it impossible. His lips parted before he could stop himself.

“It wasn’t that,” he whispered. “I… I saw someone.”

Leo’s expression softened, but he leaned in closer. “Who?”

Anxin’s hands curled around the tunic. His voice trembled. “His name is Jiahao,” Anxin murmured. “My adopted brother. My parents took him in when I was ten. He trained to protect me—he was part of our royal guard.” His voice wavered but the words kept pouring out of him, shaky but unstoppable. He finally looked at Leo, his eyes brimming with desperation. “He was being sold. They had him chained. I called his name, but they pulled me away. I couldn’t…” His voice cracked.

Leo’s chest tightened. “And you didn’t tell me right away because…?”

Anxin flinched, his gaze falling again. “Because… I didn’t know if you would help. Why would you? He’s nothing to you. And I—” He bit his lip hard, his breath uneven. “I didn’t want to hope for something that wasn’t possible.”

For a long moment, Leo said nothing. Then, firm as stone, he spoke: “You should never doubt me like that again. If he is your brother, then he matters. And if he’s in danger, then I will do whatever I can to keep him safe.”

Anxin’s eyes widened, disbelief flickering into something softer, almost fragile.

At the doorway, hidden in the shadows, Sangwon leaned casually against the wall. He had caught every word, though neither of them noticed. His smirk was faint, almost thoughtful.

“So,” he murmured under his breath, “the boy has a brother.” His gaze flicked in the direction of the markets. Already, plans were forming. If Leo was going to chase after this Jiahao, Sangwon had no intention of sitting idly by. Perhaps it would be better if he moved first—secured the boy before anyone else could.

Chapter Text

Later that week, it was late afternoon when Sangwon finally summoned Anxin to one of the quieter wings of the palace. The boy entered cautiously, his hands clasped before him, eyes darting nervously as though expecting another reprimand. But what he found stopped him cold.

Jiahao.

He was standing there, freed from chains, dressed in plain but clean clothing. His face was tired, his frame thinner than Anxin remembered, but those warm eyes—those familiar eyes—lit up the moment they landed on him.

“Anxin,” Jiahao breathed, his voice cracking as if he’d been holding the name in his chest for years.

Anxin’s lips parted in disbelief. His knees gave out, and he stumbled forward, catching Jiahao’s hands as tears blurred his vision. “You’re here… you’re safe… I thought—” His words dissolved into broken sobs against Jiahao’s shoulder.

Sangwon stood a few steps away, watching silently at first. His usual mischievous smirk was softened, replaced by something unreadable. When Jiahao glanced at him with wordless gratitude, Sangwon waved it off with a casual shrug.

“I figured,” Sangwon said lightly, though his tone carried weight, “that if Leo kept making promises he couldn’t keep fast enough, someone else had to act. So I bought him. Simple as that.”

Anxin pulled back just enough to look at him, his face wet, his chest trembling. “Why… why would you do that for me?”

Sangwon tilted his head, feigning nonchalance though his gaze lingered on the boy’s fragile form. “Because seeing you sulk around like a ghost was unbearable. You belong with your family. Even if it means I had to play the villain in someone else’s story to make it happen.”

For the first time since he’d arrived in Kaelia, Anxin smiled through his tears. It was small, shaky, but radiant all the same. “Thank you, Your Highness.” His voice was quiet, but full of sincerity.

Jiahao tightened his hold around him, murmuring softly in Caistonian, as if to assure him that everything would be all right now.

Sangwon looked away then, pretending to inspect the far wall, but the warmth that stirred in his chest was unmistakable.

-

Jiahao had expected the worst.

He’d expected chains, verbal abuse, maybe a cold cot in a rat-infested cellar. Instead, Prince Sangwon had simply smiled and gestured to a small sunlit chamber tucked behind the east wing.

“Yours,” Sangwon had said with a grin. “Unless you want something bigger. I hear the west tower is haunted.”

Jiahao didn't know how to respond. No orders. No cruel tests of obedience. Sangwon didn’t even seem interested in being waited on. He found out that he was the same age as Prince Leo, Sangwon’s older brother. The way that Sangwon had been treating him, most of the time, he treated Jiahao like a slightly older friend who also happened to do his laundry.

To say the least, it was confusing. Comforting. And utterly unsettling.

When Jiahao had asked if there was anything specific Sangwon needed from him, the prince had simply waved a hand and said, “Just don’t kill anyone. Especially me.”

At another time, when Jiahao asked if there was anything he could do for Sangwon, he laughed again. “Unless you want to get in trouble, you can try to steal me a warm piece of bread from the kitchen,” Sangwon shrugged, light-heartedly. “They’re really good. You might want to take one for yourself as well.”

In Jiahao’s eyes, Kaelia’s second prince was rarely a serious person. Sangwon treated a lot of things as a joke, but he was kind and he treated him well. Jiahao would like to stay close to him for as long as they would allow him to.

-

Leo had requested a private meeting in the garden pavilion, far enough from the palace walls to avoid wandering ears. The late evening sun painted the marble columns gold, and the sound of the fountains was the only thing filling the silence until Jiahao arrived.

He bowed politely before sitting across from the crown prince. His posture was stiff, the weariness of captivity still clinging to him, but his eyes were calm.

“I wanted to see for myself,” Leo began, voice careful, “how you’ve been since Sangwon… brought you here.”

Jiahao’s lips curved into a faint, weary smile. “Safe,” he said simply. “That’s more than I had in the markets. I can breathe without fear of being sold off tomorrow, and—” he glanced down, voice softening, “I can still see Anxin. That alone is enough for me.”

Leo studied him in silence. He could see traces of hardship in the way Jiahao held himself, but also resilience—the same resilience he recognized in Anxin. It made something tighten in his chest.

“You care for him deeply,” Leo remarked quietly.

Jiahao lifted his gaze then, sharp but cautious. “Of course I do. He is my brother, though not by blood. If there is anyone I would protect with my life, it is him.” His eyes flickered across Leo’s face, hesitant, before he asked, “But you, Your Highness… you care for him too, don’t you?”

Leo’s throat constricted. He looked away, hands folding atop the table. “I… don’t know what it is I feel,” he admitted, his voice lower than before. “But I can’t bear to see him suffer. I just want him safe. Always.”

For a moment, Jiahao said nothing, only studying the prince with quiet understanding. Then he nodded slowly, as though that answer was enough for now.

High above, unseen by them both, Sangwon leaned lazily against the railing of his balcony. He had been listening for some time, watching the exchange between his older brother and the Caistonian boy. A knowing smile ghosted his lips.

“So,” Sangwon murmured to himself, tapping the stone ledge with his fingers, “it isn’t just pity. You’ve taken a liking to him, haven’t you, brother?”

The thought lingered with him as the garden below glowed in the fading light—an unspoken truth Sangwon found both amusing and strangely poignant.

-

With the new knowledge of how Leo felt towards Anxin, Sangwon started rethinking his advances towards the Caistonian prince. It had begun as a simple curiosity, Sangwon just wanted to get to know Anxin as the new person in the palace. As he got to know him a little bit more, Sangwon started getting more and more intrigued. He didn’t know when it happened. When that curiosity turned into protective fondness, and when fondness blurred into something far more fragile. Something that tightened his throat every time Anxin looked at him with those wide, wary eyes.

“I’ve fallen for him,” Sangwon realized quietly, and it wasn’t something he could joke away about this time.

That night, Anxin approached him in his chambers, carrying a folded cloth in his hands, walking with that careful, quiet posture that never quite fit him. He bowed, too low for Sangwon’s liking, and murmured, “His Highness Prince Leo asked me to bring you his response to the letter from Valis.”

“Sit,” he told him softly.

Anxin blinked, once, twice, thrice. “Your Highness?”

“You’re not delivering orders. You’re with me.” His voice dropped to a murmur. “Just for a little while.”

Anxin hesitated, then sat down with visible reluctance. His hands trembled in his lap, and when Sangwon urged him to speak, the words that spilled out cut through the prince’s easy mask like a blade.

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” Anxin whispered. Sangwon turned toward him, startled. “In Caiston, I was the crown prince. People bowed when I passed. My words carried weight. My name meant something. But here…” He trailed off, voice brittle. “Here I clean boots and memorize the steps to pour tea. I answer to titles that aren’t mine and smile when people look at me like I’m dirt.”

Sangwon felt the words lodge in him, heavier than he’d expected. For a moment, he said nothing, watching the boy’s lashes lower over eyes clouded with grief. How can someone so young already sound so lost? he thought. And why does it matter so much to me?

“But Your Highness, Prince Leo and Prince Sangwon, had been awfully kind to me,” Anxin continued. “I am sorry if I have burdened you with my worries, Prince Sangwon.”

“Just Sangwon is fine, remember?” he softly said to the younger boy. “I could never understand what it would be like to be at your place, but believe me when I say that you’re one of the strongest people I’ve seen in this palace. When it all gets too much… lean on me. I’ll be here.”

Anxin blinked, surprised, and for a moment their gazes met. Fragile. Searching. Trusting.
And Sangwon felt his breath catch.

Anxin lowered his gaze again, and the faintest, trembling smile touched his lips. It was enough to undo Sangwon completely. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Sangwon smiled, warm and fragile. “Anytime.”

Chapter Text

The next morning, Anxin came early to the training grounds, not because someone had commanded him to— hell, Leo was probably still asleep from his late night work— but just to breathe. It was rare to be alone, truly alone. But the soft hum of morning wind through the practice dummies, the crisp smell of the dew on stone—this was as close as it got. He leaned against the cold marble railing, eyes closed, trying to remember the smell of his old home. It was slipping from him faster than he liked to admit.

Then, he heard footsteps—light, familiar ones. He didn’t open his eyes to know who it was. “You always find me when I’m trying to disappear,” Anxin said in a low voice. 

Sangwon gave a sheepish smile, joining him by the railing. “I’m good at hide-and-seek.”

Anxin turned, one brow raised. “Is that a royal talent?” he asked, playfully.

“Nope, only mine,” Sangwon said proudly. “Leo was terrible at it.”

They stood in silence for a while, until Sangwon glanced at him with a small tilt of his head. “What are you doing here so early in the morning? I doubt anyone would ask you to do anything here this early.”

Anxin nodded. Sangwon, for all of his light-hearted nature, was quick-witted, after all. “I thought if I stayed hidden long enough, maybe the palace staff would finally forget to give me a chore,” he sheepishly admitted.

Sangwon smiled, but it faded slightly. “They shouldn’t treat you like that,” Sangwon sighed. “This whole thing is just… wrong.”

“It doesn’t hurt like it used to,” Anxin murmured. “Maybe because… I have someone who sees me.”

Sangwon blinked. His heart stuttered. “You do?”

Anxin didn’t meet his gaze. “Yes.”

The moment was quiet and full.
But the warmth between them shattered later that afternoon.

-

Inside the council chamber, the King of Kaelia slammed a sealed scroll onto the table, his voice echoing against the marble walls.

“You’re indulging him too much,” he said, with a loud voice.

Leo stood opposite him, jaw tight. “He hasn’t overstepped once,” he replied, defending the way he treated Anxin.

“And yet both my sons are treating a foreign captive like a cherished guest,” the king snapped. “Have you forgotten what Caiston did to our trade ports? Our soldiers? I was right to doubt you, Leo. You’re not cut out for this yet.”

Leo’s fists curled at his sides, but he didn’t speak. He knew the game. And right now, the king held the board. If staying silent was one way to protect both himself and Anxin, Leo swallowed his pride and quietly listened to his father’s rambling.

“I’ve entertained multiple marriage proposals on your behalf, Leo,” the king continued, still quite furious at his eldest son. “Every one of them from powerful courts. Whispers are starting. They say you delay for someone beneath you.”

He didn’t say Anxin’s name. He didn’t need to. And Leo hated that.

“Perhaps,” the king said slowly, “it’s time for the Caistonian boy to be reassigned. Or sent away from the palace altogether.”

Leo’s blood ran cold.
No.

-

Later that night, Sangwon sat in Anxin’s quarters, legs crossed on the floor while Anxin folded linens in careful silence. They didn’t need to talk much now; the quiet had become something shared, not empty. Sangwon watched Anxin’s graceful movements, he could tell that Anxin was getting more practiced at doing the chores assigned to him.

But then Anxin said, “I heard the king is angry.” Words of the king’s anger towards Leo spread quickly, and it didn’t take long for it to reach Anxin either. 

Sangwon looked up. “You always hear everything, don’t you?”

Anxin gave a tired smile. “It’s the only way to survive.”

He hesitated, yet he asked again. “Do you think he will send me away?”

Sangwon didn’t answer right away. He heard the words that came out of his father’s mouth. There was talk about relocating Anxin to some noble’s house, serving as their slave. Fortunately, it seemed that the king, his cursed father, did not see it as an urgent matter just yet. And Sangwon would rather die than see Anxin go.

Then, Sangwon reached out, placed a hand over Anxin’s. “I won’t let that happen,” he promised.

Anxin looked at their joined hands. The weight of the gesture. The risk of it.

Sangwon would be risking a lot of things if he were to protect him, including his honor and title as Kaelia’s second prince. But with the way Sangwon was looking very fondly at him, Anxin wanted to believe whatever Sangwon had promised him.

-

It did, however, create a shift in his relationship with Prince Leo. Anxin started to realize that it was getting more and more difficult to read the Crown Prince. Once, there had been warmth—subtle but unmistakable. Leo would nod to him in passing, let his gaze linger a moment too long, and ask about his day with gentle curiosity. Even the silences they shared had felt like a kind of safety.

But lately, Leo only looked at him when he needed something done. No idle words. No shared glances. He stood taller now, straighter, his voice sharper in the presence of others. And Anxin wondered what he had done wrong to cause the prince to be so cold and distant towards him.

He tried harder—polished Leo’s boots until they gleamed, woke earlier, made fewer mistakes. He spoke less, moved quieter. But nothing seemed to bring back the old ease between them.

Anxin was used to being hated by the palace people.
But disappointment from someone who he cared about was far more unbearable.

The next day, Leo brought Anxin to the eastern wing—a cold, high-ceilinged room lit by tall windows and an enormous table covered in maps, parchment, and iron figurines. War generals filled the chamber, some pausing to glance at Anxin, sneering just faintly before returning to their discussions.

Leo didn’t speak to him once.
Anxin stood in the corner like a shadow, unnoticed and invisible.
Still, his eyes wandered, and landed on the large table at the center of the room.

On that table, at its center, laid a large map. Anxin recognized it as the map of Caiston—its ridgelines, fort walls, the winding river that once fed their capital. Small red stones marked Kaelia’s advancements; black pins lined Caiston’s few remaining strongholds.

Leo and his generals spoke of terrain, of supplies, of weaknesses. Names and tactics. Timelines.

Meanwhile, Anxin paid attention to the marked map in front of him. Noting areas that were less guarded than others, emergency exit points out of Kaelia’s capital. “ If I ever got out of here…” The thought crawled uninvited. Would he even be given a chance to go out?

He swallowed it down quickly. But not before it left a bitter taste.

-

That night, Anxin cleaned Leo’s desk as usual, hands steady but heart unsure.

He wanted to ask: Did I upset you? Did I disappoint you somehow?
But instead, he said nothing.

Leo was there, silent as always, scribbling notes with a furrowed brow. He glanced up once as Anxin poured his tea, then returned to writing.

The silence used to mean comfort.
Now, it only meant distance.

Chapter Text

The new hires arrived quietly.

A pair of young men, assigned to the palace’s outer maintenance crew—gardeners, they said. One tall and stoic with a signature deep voice, while the other slightly shorter, sharp-eyed and quick with a joke. They kept to themselves, worked fast, and spoke with just enough Kaelian accent to pass.

But even when everyone else in the palace was oblivious to the two new workers, Jiahao noticed first.

“How do you even trim roses like that?” he asked one afternoon, arms crossed, staring suspiciously at the garden hedge. Jiahao had spent most of his life living with Anxin's family in the Caistonian royal palace. What he saw before him was the way Caistonian gardeners would style their rose bushes. It was uncommon to see in Kaelia. “That’s a Caistonian cut. I haven’t seen that since...”

The shorter of the two paused. “Since you were last home?” he inquired, with a knowing smirk. Jiahao's breath caught, now realizing the thick Caistonian accent that the two gardeners had.

Later, behind the herb house, away from listening ears, they spoke freely.

“I’m Boheng,” said the tall one, bowing. “And this is Xinlong. We were sent by the king to bring you back.”

“And of course, prince Anxin,” Xinlong added. “But we hadn't found a way to reach him and tell him about the rescue plan without anyone growing suspicious.”

Jiahao studied their faces- loyalty burned behind their eyes, but so did urgency. When he finally spoke, his voice trembled. “It's not going to be easy. Everyone's eyes are on Anxin right now.”

Boheng grinned. “This is why we would need your help. We knew you'd recognize the rose bushes quick enough to notice us.”

“We should meet again at midnight,” Xinlong told Jiahao. “It would be best if you can drag Prince Anxin with you. But if that's not possible, just us three would suffice for now.”

-

It wasn't that difficult for Jiahao to get Anxin to tag along with him. That night, the four of them met in the empty garden. Jiahao paced. Xinlong drew a map in the dirt. Boheng watched the skies. Anxin joined the other three with no idea why he was summoned.

“There's hope for us to come back home,” Jiahao explained very briefly. “These two were sent by your father to get us out. We'll have to trust them for now.”

“We… might go home?” Anxin was still processing the new information as Xinlong finished the map he sketched on the dirt. On one hand, he missed Caiston and his family dearly. On the other hand, he was starting to grow accustomed to Prince Leo's and Prince Sangwon's company.

“So, as far as we know, the outer watch rotates every four nights,” Xinlong said, pointing at certain points of his map with the stick he used to draw it. “The next full moon falls on a changeover. That’s our best shot. We can use the small river at the north to escape, and hide in the woods for a while. We can catch the next ship to Caiston without anyone noticing.”

“It's risky, the docks are heavily guarded post-war, and the royal guards patrol the woods at least three times a week,” Anxin shook his head. “I accompanied Prince Leo in the war room a couple of times. I learned something, something very important.”

The other three were all ears to what Anxin had to say. He knelt and drew the war table from memory: troop movements, defense gaps, Kaelia’s supply chains.

“There’s a weak link in the river valley, just a few miles east from the palace grounds,” Anxin explained. “It would be safer to go there, and cross the demilitarized borders. I heard that some of our troops were still camping there with supplies. They can take us home safely.” 

“And… once we return back to Caiston,” Anxin added. “If we send forces through the mountain pass here, and another unit down the river at nightfall…” He pointed swiftly. “We could reclaim the capital.”

Xinlong stared, stunned. “You remember all this?”

Anxin nodded slowly. “I didn't plan to. I just... listened.”

“Of course, our prince has always been brilliant, after all,” Boheng proudly smiled. “Even without us, he'll figure out a way to return back home! Your Highness, Xinlong and I will help you as best as we can.”

It should have sounded like freedom. He would finally have the chance to be a prince once more…

But instead, Anxin felt... dizzy.

-

Compared to Leo, Sangwon had always been the softer one. Gentle smiles, curious questions, an aura untouched by the violence of war. He was sunshine personified, according to the people working in the palace. He was not fit to lead the kingdom… because he didn't have to. He had Leo to fulfill that role, and Sangwon would be more than happy to help his brother from behind.

But even with his light-hearted and childlike nature, he wasn’t blind.

He noticed the way Anxin moved lately—more quiet, more withdrawn, like he was keeping something hidden behind his lowered eyes. His laughter had dulled, and he no longer lingered when Sangwon tried to start a conversation. He blamed it all on Leo, who was distracted enough to be oblivious to Anxin's change in demeanour. Leo, who had grown distant towards Anxin and started to treat him like a nobody.

“Of course this is all because of father's words,” he grumbled frustratedly. “But couldn't he at least be a little bit nicer to him?”

Late one evening, Sangwon pulled Jiahao aside in the east corridor. “Has something happened to him?” he asked, arms crossed. “Did my brother say something cruel?”

Jiahao blinked, not knowing where Sangwon wanted to steer the conversation to. One worry clouded his mind: had Sangwon caught on to their escape plan? “Prince Leo?” he managed to ask back, trying his best to hide the faint shakiness in his voice.

“He’s been cold. Distant. And Anxin- he’s definitely not himself,” Sangwon explained his concerns. “I just... want to know if I should talk to Leo or-”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Jiahao said quickly, forcing a smile. “He’s just tired, that’s all. I'm grateful that Your Highness cares enough for Anxin to notice.”

But the lie clung to his tongue like ash.

That night, Jiahao immediately told Xinlong and Boheng what had happened.

“Prince Sangwon is suspicious,” Jiahao said under his breath. They were hidden in the storage room of the back gardens, but they kept their voices low out of fear that anyone passing by might hear them and report them to the guards. “But he hasn't caught on that there would be a rescue plan. Anxin has been quiet lately, and he’s just worried. For Anxin.”

Boheng smirked. “The second prince has a soft spot towards Prince Anxin, huh?”

“Crown Prince Leo too,” Jiahao admitted. “Though, they show it very differently. Leo is not a concern of ours for now. He's been distant towards Anxin because of the king's threats. He barely notices Anxin's presence these days.”

“Keep us updated on Prince Sangwon, then,” Xinlong said. “You're by his side most of the time, no? Tell us if he mentions anything about Prince Anxin again, we might have to postpone the escape and move more slowly.” 

Boheng’s eyes narrowed. “In the meantime, we’ll need to move more carefully. No more meetings in the open, and probably we would have to exclude Prince Anxin in most of our planning. Agreed?”

They all nodded, their escape plan too valuable for even one minor mistake.

Chapter Text

Leo hadn't slept properly in weeks.

He spent his nights surrounded by maps and messengers, his days shadowed by his father’s ever-watchful eye. And through it all, one thought pulsed beneath the surface like a bruise he couldn’t ignore:

Anxin.

The boy was growing quieter by the day. More careful. Even when it looked like he didn't care, Leo had caught the way his eyes flicked toward him sometimes, full of questions, of hurt Leo couldn’t allow himself to answer. 

He wanted to explain. To reach out. To say, I’m sorry I’ve pulled away. I’m trying to keep you safe.

But safety had a cost, and Leo’s hands were already bound by too many secrets.

His father had begun muttering again about “political leverage” and “a waste of resources.” The idea of Anxin being sent away- to a border outpost, a slave to some minor noble of Kaelia, or maybe even worse- was a noose tightening around Leo’s resolve.

So, he persisted. Even when it hurt him to see Anxin so sad, and even if it broke his heart to not see Anxin smile around him anymore, the Caistonian prince's safety was his priority.

Later one evening, he found Jiahao by the fountain court—alone, for once. The boy bowed out of habit, but Leo waved it off and sat beside him.

“Have you noticed it too?” Leo asked cautiously. He didn't mention a name, but he didn't need to. Jiahao knew exactly what Leo wanted to talk about. Jiahao didn’t pretend not to understand. “He’s been... distant,” Jiahao had replied.

Leo nodded. “He thinks I’m angry with him. That he did something wrong.”

Jiahao gave him a long look, unreadable. “Did he?” he asked. Leo shook his head as a response.

“No,” Leo murmured. “I did.”

He leaned back, letting the stone chill seep into his spine.

“I can’t protect him if I’m obvious about it. If the king suspects I care too much-” He stopped. Too much. As if there was a safe limit. But there was, and if Leo dared to cross that limit, he was scared as hell to what could happen to the boy he cared so much for.

“I understand,” Jiahao said quietly. “More than you know.”

Leo turned to him. “I just wanted someone to know the truth. That I’m not turning cold because I don’t care. I’m doing it because I do.”

There was a pause, then Jiahao smiled- small, tired, but real. “Thank you. For telling me. For everything you’ve done for him.”

Leo exhaled, just a little. But Jiahao’s next words were careful, edged with guilt: “But I won’t tell him. About how you feel.”

Leo’s gaze sharpened. “Why?”

“Because... he might stay.”

-

Leo replayed Jiahao’s words in his head long after the boy had walked away.

“Because… he might stay.”

Why wouldn’t Anxin stay?

He had food. Shelter. Safety. The protection of two princes—Leo himself had been bending every rule just to keep Anxin from vanishing under his father’s cruel scrutiny. And as much as he didn't like Sangwon sticking close to the boy under his care… he was grateful that his brother cared about him as much as he did.

Unless...

Unless there was a way out.

Leo stood up too fast, his chair scraping against the marble floor of the war chamber. Maps fluttered from the table’s edge, but he didn’t care. He left the room, fists clenched, heart pounding. A realization hit him.

Someone’s coming for him.

The thought ignited a fire in his chest, an urgency he hadn’t felt since the war’s bloodiest days. He didn’t know whether it was panic or hope that twisted inside him.

If they succeeded... Anxin would be safe. Free.

But he would be gone. From Leo’s life. From the palace. From the fragile, unspoken thing growing between them.

By midnight, Leo sat in his chambers, staring at a list of palace staff rotations and servant records. It hadn’t taken much to get his hands on the list—he was the crowned prince, after all. The names jumped out easily: Xinlong. Boheng. Both recent hires. No previous ties to Kaelia. Slippery records. Almost too perfect.

He closed his eyes. Exhaled slowly. He could alert the king. Have them captured. Secure Anxin in the palace under heavier guard. It would look like loyalty. It would look like control.

But it would be betrayal.

“He’ll hate me for it,” Leo thought. “ But at least he’ll live.”

Then again... wasn’t that what he had always done? Chosen duty over desire? Selflessness over honesty? But for once, Leo wasn’t sure he could make the right choice.

He folded the servant list in half.

-

Meanwhile, Sangwon hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He’d just returned from the stables, following the overgrown path by the servant’s quarters when he heard hushed voices just beyond the archway.

“…next full moon,” one said, low and sharp.

“Anxin will be ready,” another replied. “He agreed.”

Sangwon’s breath caught. His feet froze against the stone.

He didn’t need to hear more. The tone, the names, the way their voices fell silent the moment footsteps passed—it was enough.

-

Back in his chamber, Sangwon paced like a boy scolded, twisting the sleeve of his robe between trembling fingers. They’re going to take him. They’re going to take Anxin away from me.

And worst of all- he hadn’t been told. Not by Anxin. Not by Jiahao. Especially not by Jiahao. Absent-mindedly, he rang the bell. Jiahao arrived within minutes, flustered, bowing low as always.

“You’ve been keeping secrets,” Sangwon said, voice too sharp, too fast, accusatory.

Jiahao blinked. “Pardon, Your Highness?”

“Don’t lie to me.” His tone cut deeper than he intended, Jiahao flinched at his words. “You’ve known all along, haven’t you? About the spies. About Anxin’s plan to escape.”

Jiahao paled. He didn't expect for Sangwon to confront him about it. Worst of all, he was afraid that his and Anxin's lives were in danger because of it.

“I trusted you,” Sangwon said, stepping closer. “He trusted you! And you kept it hidden like- like some kind of traitor.”

“I’m not a traitor!” Jiahao cried, eyes wide. “And he knew. I was trying to protect him- protect both of you!”

“Then why didn’t you come to me?” Sangwon snapped, raising his voice further. “Why did you choose them over-”

He stopped himself.

But it was too late.

Jiahao’s eyes brimmed with tears, his voice cracking. “I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

He turned and bolted from the room.

-

Leo was heading toward the library when he saw a flash of movement- someone nearly colliding into a wall. He stepped forward just in time to catch the boy stumbling past.

“Jiahao?” he asked. The servant turned, startled. His cheeks were flushed, eyes damp. Leo frowned and stepped closer, gentler now. “What happened?”

Jiahao hesitated. His mouth opened, then closed. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” he whispered. “But you deserve to know.”

Leo’s expression shifted, readying himself to what Jiahao might say. Jiahao took a breath, then said: “There’s going to be an escape. They’re planning to take Anxin. Next full moon.”

Silence. Leo's chest tightened. He already suspected- but hearing it confirmed knocked the wind from him.

Still, he only nodded.

“Thank you,” Leo said, voice steady albeit gently, not to further startle Jiahao. “You did the right thing.”

-

Leo sat alone in the gardens, long after the sun had dipped below the horizon. After that afternoon's encounter, he had decided to summon Jiahao privately—not as a servant, but as someone he could trust.

Jiahao arrived quietly, eyes still wary from their last conversation. Leo didn’t look at him at first. “You knew all along,” he started. 

“I did,” Jiahao replied softly. “But I wasn’t sure what the right thing was. If you knew, you might have stopped him.”

Leo finally turned. “Would that have been so wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Jiahao admitted. “You’re the prince. You’ve saved him more times than he’ll ever realize. But you’re also the reason he can’t truly be free.”

That landed like a stone in Leo’s chest. Even if it was the truth, it didn't make it less painful for Leo to accept the fact.

“I don’t want to lose him,” Leo admitted, voice tight. “But keeping him here… it’s selfish, isn’t it?”

Jiahao said nothing. Then, after a long pause: “I think… you and I both just wanted him to feel safe. Whether he stays or goes… maybe that’s all that matters.”

Leo looked at him, studying the quiet sorrow in his eyes. There was something calming about Jiahao- soft, steady, honest in a way few people were.

“I’m glad he has you,” Leo murmured. “And I’m glad I do too.”

–

Sangwon’s steps echoed down the side corridors of the palace, half in search of Anxin, half chasing thoughts he couldn’t quiet.

He’s really going to leave.
He didn’t tell me.
Why didn’t he tell me?

It wasn’t until he reached the east wing—near the servant quarters—that he found him. Anxin was bent over a low table, organizing documents Leo had left behind from the last strategy meeting. His back was still a little stiff, Sangwon noticed, though he tried to hide it.

“Anxin,” Sangwon called, softer than he expected.

The boy turned quickly, then bowed. “Your Highness.” Sangwon hated that Anxin couldn't call him by name with so many other servants around.

“Can we talk?” Sangwon asked. Anxin looked unsure but nodded.

Sangwon stepped closer. “You’ve seemed… distant lately.”

“I’m just tired,” Anxin said quietly, half truth, and half concealing the secret that he and his fellow Caistonians bore.

Sangwon didn’t buy it. “Is it because of Leo?”

Anxin blinked, startled. “He’s just been busy, I think.”

“Or is it something else?” Sangwon pressed gently. “Something you haven’t told me?”

Anxin looked away, afraid that Sangwon could further read into him if he kept his gaze on Sangwon's for too long. But too late, Sangwon had already seemed to figure it out. The silence between them stretched, fragile and tense.

“I overheard… some things,” Sangwon admitted. “I know… about the escape.”

That broke something in Anxin’s gaze- panic, guilt, maybe even sorrow.

“I didn’t want to lie to you,” Anxin whispered. “But I didn’t know what to say.”

“You could’ve told me the truth,” Sangwon replied, voice soft and laced with sadness. “I wouldn’t have stopped you. I just… wanted to be part of it. Even if it meant goodbye.”

Anxin’s eyes widened slightly. “Why?” he asked, not expecting Sangwon's response.

Sangwon hesitated. Then said, almost inaudibly: “Because it’s you.”

-

The moonlight spilled across the empty courtyard, where lanterns had long since dimmed and only shadows danced along the stone.

Anxin stood at the edge of the archway, arms crossed over his chest, watching the sky. He didn’t turn when he heard footsteps, soft and sure, approaching behind him.

“You always find me,” he murmured.

Sangwon stopped a few paces behind. “Maybe I’m just good at looking.”

They stood in silence for a while, the weight of unspoken things settling between them. Then, quietly, Sangwon said, “If you want to go… I’ll help you.”

Anxin turned to face him, startled. “You would…?”

“I told you that I've heard everything. About the escape. About the spies.” Sangwon’s voice didn’t tremble, but his hands were balled at his sides. “I could report you. I should. But I won’t.”

Anxin stepped closer, brows furrowed. “Why?”

“Because you matter more to me than this war.”

The words hit Anxin like a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“But I need to know,” Sangwon said gently, as if he was begging for something from the Caistonian prince. “Is that what you truly want? To leave?”

Anxin hesitated. “I don’t know,” his voice cracked. “There’s a part of me that wants to go home- to fight for my people, to go back to my family and to be the crown prince I was raised to be. But… I’m not that boy anymore.”

He looked away, pained. “I don’t know where I belong now.”

Sangwon’s expression softened, and he moved closer to bring Anxin into his embrace. “Then don’t choose yet. I’ll protect you no matter what you decide. I swear it.”

That promise- quiet, steady- made something in Anxin’s chest ache. His throat felt tight. “Why are you always so kind to me?” he asked, voice barely a whisper.

“Because you’ve never asked for kindness… and yet, you deserve it more than anyone,” Sangwon spoke softly and earnestly.  They were close now- close enough that the warmth of Sangwon’s breath brushed Anxin’s cheek.

Anxin looked up at him, eyes shining, vulnerable. “You make it hard to leave.”

Sangwon raised a hand, brushing a stray strand of hair from Anxin’s face. “Then stay, at least for tonight.”

Anxin didn’t answer- not with words. He closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to Sangwon’s. It was a kiss born not of passion, but of relief. Of comfort. Of quiet promises in a world that had given them none. And for a moment, there was no war, no kingdoms, no roles- only the truth between them.

When they pulled apart, breathless, Sangwon rested his forehead against Anxin’s. “Whatever happens next,” he whispered, “you won’t face it alone.”

Chapter Text

The war room had gone silent hours ago, the last of the ministers dismissed and the maps left strewn in disarray. Leo remained, hunched over the edge of the long table, his knuckles pale where they gripped a goblet of now-cold tea. His thoughts, however, were far from strategies.

He had seen them. Anxin and Sangwon, together in the courtyard the previous night. A quiet smile passed between them. Fingers that brushed a second too long. Eyes that lingered.

At first, Leo tried to ignore it. He had convinced himself that Sangwon was simply… being Sangwon. Soft, warm, too curious for his own good. But then he saw them again in the gardens that afternoon—too close, too comfortable. And it twisted in his chest.

He found Sangwon alone in the study the next evening, sorting scrolls into neat piles with his usual distracted precision. The younger prince didn’t even seem to notice his presence until he spoke up.

“You and Anxin,” Leo said abruptly, “is there something going on?”

Sangwon didn’t look up. “That’s blunt. Even for you.”

“I need to know,” Leo demanded, almost growling.

Finally, Sangwon met his gaze, jaw tight. “You mean now you want to know? After weeks of pushing him away? He’s been surviving in the palace alone, Leo. And you- you let Father punish him. You left him to drown in silence.”

“I was protecting him,” Leo snapped, offended that his own brother would accuse him of deliberately pushing Anxin away. “If Father suspected anything-”

“Then say it,” Sangwon cut in, stepping forward. “Say it to me. That you care about him. That you love him.”

Leo’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Love? Since when had Sangwon’s curious pursuit of Anxin bloomed into something more? But Leo could only stay quiet, as he did not have the confidence that he could match what Sangwon was feeling towards Anxin.

“I thought so,” Sangwon whispered, bitterly. “Well, news flash, brother, I do. And if anyone’s going to be by his side, it should be the one who never treated him like something to be hidden.”

Leo flinched as if struck. “Is that what you think I did?”

Sangwon didn’t answer. He walked past his brother, the sharp slam of the door echoing after him. Leo was left there, simply dumbstriken.

-

Leo didn’t sleep that night.

Nor the night after.

He buried himself in council meetings and troop logistics, tearing through scroll after scroll until his vision blurred and his hands shook. It was a bad habit of his, drowning himself in work whenever he wanted to get his mind off a certain thought that disrupts him. This time, he wanted to forget his last argument with Sangwon. However, when he finally collapsed-feverish and pale-his attendants panicked and sent for the only one he’d ever let near in such a state.

Anxin stood at the edge of Leo’s chamber, hesitant, clutching a basin of water. The guards that ushered him had already left.

“…Prince Leo?” he asked softly, inching forward.

Leo laid in bed, face flushed with heat, the blankets twisted around him. His eyes fluttered open at the sound of Anxin’s voice, his head pounded due to the sunlight entering from his windows.

“You came,” Leo managed to croak out, wincing at how bad he sounded.

“I was told that you’re not feeling well,” Anxin replied, voice gentle as he set the basin down and dipped a cloth into the water. “You’re burning up.”

Leo gave a faint, bitter laugh. “Figures. My body’s always known when to shut down.”

Anxin sat beside him, wringing out the cloth and pressing it to his forehead. “You shouldn’t have pushed yourself this hard.”

“I didn’t think you’d care,” Leo admitted, feeling the relief when the cold cloth met his burning skin. “I haven’t been the best to you lately.”

Anxin looked away, trying to avoid Leo's gaze. “I care more than you think.”

For a long moment, Leo just watched him. The curve of his brow, the way his lips pressed into a thin line when he focused. The careful grace of someone who still wasn’t sure where he stood.

“I’m sorry,” Leo said quietly.

Anxin blinked. “For what?”

“For making you think you had to walk on eggshells around me.” His voice cracked. “For pulling away. For not being braver.”

Anxin paused, cloth still in hand. “I didn’t know what I meant to you.”

Leo’s gaze darkened with emotion. “I still don’t know what you mean to me. All I know is-I’m afraid of losing you. To the war. To Caiston. To my brother.”

Anxin froze. “…You saw?”

Leo nodded weakly. “Sangwon’s in love with you, isn’t he?”

Anxin swallowed. “I didn’t plan for anything to happen, I swear.”

“I know,” Leo said. “But if you choose him… I won’t stop you.”

Anxin’s hand trembled slightly as he returned the cloth to the bowl. “That’s not fair.”

“Nothing about this has ever been fair,” Leo argued back. “At least, if you’d choose any one of us, you have a choice. As much as I want you… I can’t force you to stand by me if your heart has decided on Sangwon.”

They sat in silence for a while, the air heavy with things neither could fully name.

Then Leo added, in a whisper barely audible, “Just stay until I fall asleep.”

And Anxin did-his hand gently resting over Leo’s, unsure of the lines they’d crossed, but unwilling to let go.

-

Leo stirred again, waking from a half-sleep to the soft rustle of fabric. The fever had dulled slightly, but his limbs still felt heavy- his mind swimming just below the surface of lucidity. He opened his eyes to find Anxin still sitting by his bedside, quietly wringing out another cloth into the basin.

“You’re still here,” Leo murmured, voice still laced with drowsiness.

Anxin turned, startled. “You told me to stay.”

Leo smiled faintly. “Didn’t think you’d listen.”

“I’ll always listen,” Anxin replied gently, dabbing his forehead once more with careful hands. “Even when you think I’m not. And no, this has nothing to do with the fact that I do work for you, Leo.”

Leo watched him. The way Anxin leaned in just enough to cool his skin, the way his brow furrowed in worry. His movements were delicate, every gesture thoughtful, practiced in kindness even if he wasn’t raised to serve. He smelled faintly of lavender and parchment, and the soft light from the bedside lamp painted him in gold.

Leo's heart ached. “I missed you,” Leo said suddenly.

Anxin blinked, fingers pausing on his skin.

“You’ve been here the whole time,” Leo continued, “but I kept pushing you away. I thought it’d make things easier. Safer.”

Anxin lowered the cloth into the water, eyes lowered. “It didn’t make it easier for me. I wished you had warned me, or given me an explanation.”

Leo let out a tired sigh. “I know. And by the way, I saw how you looked at Sangwon.”

Anxin’s hands tensed. Leo noticed, but he continued nonetheless.

“I don’t blame you,” Leo added quickly. “He’s... different from me. Softer. Freer. I see the way he tries to make you laugh. He gets to say what I can’t.”

Anxin didn’t speak, but he didn’t look away either. His throat bobbed, lips parting slightly with something caught between apology and hesitation.

“I used to hope it was me,” Leo said, voice thick. “That you’d fall for me instead. But when I saw how your eyes followed him... it stopped hurting. In the end, I just wanted you to be happy.”

Anxin looked stricken.

“I’m sorry,” Leo whispered. “For making you feel like a burden. For treating you like something I had to protect instead of someone I could just... love as you are.”

A silence stretched between them. Then, softly, Anxin spoke. “I’m grateful for you,” Anxin said. “Even when you were distant… I knew you cared. I was just too scared to ask why you were pulling away.”

Leo reached for his hand, a slow, deliberate movement. “Whatever you choose-Sangwon, or Caiston, or something else entirely-I’ll help you. I promise.”

Anxin’s eyes welled up with unshed tears. He gripped Leo’s hand gently, as if trying to offer some comfort back.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “You truly don’t understand how much those words mean to me.”

Leo drifted into sleep again moments later, hand still clasped in Anxin’s. And for the first time in weeks, Anxin didn’t feel alone.

-

The sun had barely risen when Sangwon noticed Anxin returning from Leo’s quarters. The younger boy’s steps were careful, deliberate—his eyes shadowed with exhaustion and something else Sangwon couldn’t quite place.

Sangwon waited until later that day, when they were alone behind the herb garden wall, before speaking.

“You stayed with Leo last night,” he said, not a question.

Anxin blinked. “He was unwell,” Anxin replied. “I just… watched over him.”

Sangwon’s lips pressed into a line. “For how long?”

“All night.” The honesty was sharp in Anxin’s voice, though not defensive- just… matter-of-fact.

Sangwon looked away, jaw tight. “You didn’t tell me.”

“You didn’t ask,” Anxin replied gently, “and I didn’t think it would matter.”

That stung more than Sangwon expected.

“I’m not accusing you,” Sangwon said after a moment. “But I won’t pretend it didn’t make my chest twist.”

Anxin lowered his gaze. “He said he no longer wants to stand in the way. He was kind. He understands.”

Sangwon nodded slowly, words soft. “And do you understand what you want, Anxin?”

There was a beat of silence. “No,” Anxin admitted, after a while. “But I’m trying.”

Sangwon stepped forward, brushing a lock of hair from Anxin’s face. “Then keep trying. Just… don’t shut me out.”

Anxin leaned into the touch slightly, closing his eyes. “I won’t, I promise.”

Chapter Text

That same evening, under the cloak of darkness and secrecy, Leo summoned Xinlong, Boheng, and Jiahao to a private study—one usually reserved for old maps and forgotten scrolls. Other than Jiahao, the two Caistonian spies fidgeted nervously, wondering why Kaelia’s Crown Prince had decided to call for them.

“You know why I called you,” Leo began, arms crossed. His tone was low but firm. “You’re here for Anxin, am I right?”

The spies stiffened. Boheng took a step back in defense.

“You can relax,” Leo added. “I’m not turning you in.”

Xinlong exchanged a look with Boheng, guarded. “Then why are we here?”

“I want to help him escape,” Leo admitted, feeling like he himself didn’t believe the words that came out of his mouth.

Jiahao blinked, surprised. “You’re serious?” he asked. He knew that Leo was aware of their plan, but what he did not expect was Leo taking the initiative to help them plan Anxin’s escape.

Leo nodded. “I can forge passage and secure a route through the old forest road,” he offered, while unrolling a map showing the northern borders of Kaelia. “But this won’t work unless Anxin is truly ready.”

“He’s not,” Jiahao said quickly. The information wasn’t a huge surprise to Leo, but caught Xinlong and Boheng by surprise. “Not entirely. He’s torn, and I can’t blame him. He trusts you and he trusts Sangwon. He doesn’t want to betray either of you.”

Leo’s jaw tightened. “Then we give him a choice. But he needs the option.”

Xinlong narrowed his eyes. “You want to bring your brother into this? What if he ruins the plan for love?”

Leo hesitated. “Even if we don’t tell him, he’ll find out anyway- and that will hurt Anxin more. He deserves the truth.”

The tension in the room crackled like dry leaves.

As the four of them continued their discussion in hushed tones, they did not realize a fifth presence was listening on them. Just outside the cracked window, a palace guard who had been making his rounds paused. His brow furrowed at the muffled voices and the mention of escape.

He crept away into the shadows, a wicked grin forming. This is valuable information. Something the king would pay handsomely to hear… or something to use to control the Crown Prince.

-

Prince Leo was reviewing old military scrolls in the study when the door creaked open.

He didn’t look up. “This room is off limits,” he warned whoever was brave enough to bother him.

“But clearly not to Caistonian spies,” the voice spoke. Leo recognized who it was. Dry. Bitter. Leo’s eyes snapped upward.

“Sihwan,” his gaze sharpened.

The palace guard  stepped forward, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with smug satisfaction. “Imagine my surprise, Your Highness,” the young guard started. “I’ve served the Kaelian royal family ever since I was a young boy. Fought in two skirmishes. Guarded the very halls you sleep in.”

Leo’s hand curled into a fist on the table. “What do you want?”

“Recognition. A raise. A title would be nice,” Sihwan said. “But I’ll settle for enough gold to disappear. Say… five purses full?”

Leo’s mouth twitched. “You’re blackmailing me.”

“I’m offering you a chance to fix a mistake before it becomes treason,” Sihwan tried to reason with him.

Leo stood slowly. “And if I say no?”

“I go straight to the king with what I heard. The escape plan. The spies. The Caistonian prince's betrayal.” His smile widened. “Imagine how well that will go.”

Leo’s voice dropped dangerously. “You’d burn the entire palace for a pay raise?”

Sihwan’s expression hardened. “No, Your Highness. I’d burn it because it never paid me what I was worth.”

-

Leo had no choice. Sihwan wanted something he couldn’t give—not without drawing suspicion. Five purses of gold wouldn’t be too difficult for Leo to obtain, but if another guard or a random maid were to somehow see him give that much gold to a simple palace guard… he might be in bigger trouble than he started with. So he took the next best route: damage control.

He summoned Xinlong and Boheng at the edge of the palace orchard, deep under moonlight.

“There’s a risk,” Leo said quickly. “One of my guards overheard. His name’s Sihwan. He’s gone to the king.”

Xinlong cursed under his breath. “We have to abort.”

“No,” Leo said sharply. “Just lay low. I’ll reroute the plan. Just be invisible. I’ll cover for you.”

“You’re risking your position,” Boheng warned.

“I’m not doing this for me,” Leo said, glancing toward the east wing, where he knew Anxin and Jiahao were still asleep. “I’m doing this because it’s too late to go back.”

-

The next morning was eerily silent.

Servants scurried down the corridors with uneasy looks. Soldiers were posted at every corner. Something had shifted.

When Jiahao stepped into the kitchen corridor, a stern voice barked, “Jiahao of Caiston. Present yourself to the throne room,” a guard had announced.

Jiahao’s blood ran cold.

Moments later, a second call echoed across the marble halls.

“Anxin of Caiston, His Majesty commands your presence- immediately,” another guard had called for Anxin similarly.

Both boys were escorted, flanked by guards, through the gold-and-marble passage toward the royal court. Leo stood near the throne, tense as a drawn bowstring. Sangwon, who had just entered from the opposite hall, met his brother’s eyes with confusion. “ What’s happening?” he mouthed.

Leo’s face said it all: Everything is falling apart.

-

The throne room was cold despite the midday sun. White marble walls seemed to glow with a sterile sheen, casting long shadows behind the assembled nobles and guards. At the center sat the King of Kaelia, sharp-eyed, his fingers steepled in front of him as he regarded the two Caistonian boys kneeling before him- Anxin, his royal garb long replaced by servant linen, and Jiahao, his face pale, but head held high.

“Tell me,” the king said slowly, “Why should I let either of you live?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Even the nobles dared not shift in their seats.

Finally, the king spoke again, colder. “The evidence is clear. You-” he gestured to Anxin “-were the center of a plotted escape, and you-” his gaze cut to Jiahao “-were to follow. One as a symbol, the other as a witness. What you’re planning would be breaking the peace treaty signed by two kingdoms, but Kaelia will not be made a fool.”

From the royal dais, Leo’s knuckles turned white on the edge of the gallery. His throat burned with unspoken words. Beside him, Sangwon’s jaw tightened.

Then the king said it:
“The Caistonian servant shall be executed at dawn. As for the Caistonian prince- he will be stripped of all duties and imprisoned in the west tower indefinitely.”

Gasps rang out. Jiahao stiffened. Anxin’s mouth parted in shock- but no words came. Just the sound of his breath catching, and the tremble in his fingers.

Suddenly, Sangwon stepped forward. “Father, I must speak.”

The king narrowed his eyes on his youngest son. “Speak wisely, Sangwon.”

Sangwon dropped to one knee. “If there were escape plans, I can testify that Jiahao was not involved. He has been with me every day. I summoned him. He served under my watch. If he were guilty of treason, I would have known.”

“Would you stake your name on it?” the king asked.

“I would stake my life,” Sangwon said clearly, despite the nervous pounding of his heart. “If he is found guilty, I will carry out his punishment myself.”

There was silence. Then the king made his decision.

“Very well. The servant shall remain under your watch until this matter is investigated further. One mistake, Sangwon- and his blood is on your hands.”

Jiahao’s legs nearly gave out in relief. But beside him, Anxin did not move.

The king's voice hardened. “As for Prince Anxin- he cannot be saved. The plans revolved around him. He will be sent to the deepest dungeon until I decide what to do with him.”

“No,” Sangwon breathed. “Please-he-”

But the guards were already stepping forward.

Anxin’s knees trembled as the heavy hands clamped around his arms. Still, he didn’t resist. Didn’t speak. Didn’t sob.He just turned his head, and through the fog of humiliation and terror, locked eyes with Leo, and then Sangwon.

His eyes were red- but no tears fell. Just the sheen of it, trembling at the corners. His mouth moved, soundless: I’m sorry, he had mouthed.

And then he was gone. Dragged out of the hall by two royal guards as the door slammed shut behind them.

Chapter Text

The air was cold and wet—thick with the scent of moss and rusting chains. A single torch crackled dimly at the end of the corridor, casting flickering shadows on the damp stone floor. Anxin sat curled in the farthest corner of his cell, wrists bruised from the manacles that had just been removed, his back pressed to the unforgiving stone wall.

He hadn’t eaten since the trial. His throat ached from silence. His heart ached from everything else.

The clinking of coins echoed just beyond the stairwell. Then the guards shifted, mumbling a quiet thanks. The keys rattled. A door creaked and someone stepped inside.

Anxin didn't lift his head. Not until he recognized the faintest trace of that familiar cologne—clean linen, cold night air, a whisper of citrus. A heartbeat later, Sangwon knelt before him. The torchlight flickered across his face, highlighting the worry in his eyes.

“I told them I was inspecting the lower levels,” he whispered. “No one will know I’m here.”

Anxin turned his face away, voice hoarse. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“I had to,” Sangwon said.

“For what?” Anxin asked bitterly, still not looking at him. “To see the mess you’ve thrown your name behind?”

Sangwon flinched. “I don’t regret defending Jiahao.”

“I’m glad,” Anxin said quietly. “But you shouldn’t throw away anything more for me. You’re the second prince of Kaelia. Although you’re not going to inherit the throne like Leo, there’s still so much more to life out there for you.  Just—forget about me. I’ll be fine.”

Sangwon reached out, gently, as though afraid even his touch would shatter Anxin. His hand hovered before finally resting over Anxin’s. Cold skin met warmth. “You’re not fine,” Sangwon said. “And I won’t pretend like you are.”

Anxin finally turned to face him. His eyes were rimmed red, his lips pale. Sangwon’s heart broke at the sight of someone he loved so much, looking as broken as Anxin did. “I’m asking you to leave me behind. It’s safer for you.”

“You want me to walk away, act like I don’t care?” Sangwon whispered. “I can’t do that, Anxin. Not when every second I spend not seeing you, I wonder if you're still breathing.”

Anxin looked down. His voice cracked. “If I’m gone, the king might let you live your life freely,” he tried to reason with the stubborn prince. “You’re already in enough danger just knowing me.”

Sangwon shook his head. “You didn’t ask for this war. You didn’t ask to be a prisoner. You’ve lost your home, your name, your freedom. But don’t ask me to lose you.”

Anxin didn’t speak. The two of them just sat there in silence. Just their breathing, quiet in the cold. Time stretching thin between them.

At last, Anxin leaned his forehead forward, resting it against Sangwon’s. “You’re foolish,” he sighed.

“I know.”

“Thank you for coming.”

Sangwon exhaled shakily, his fingers squeezing Anxin’s hand.

“I’ll come again,” he promised.

And then, before the guards grew suspicious, he slipped away.

-

Jiahao hadn’t smiled in days.

He still rose at dawn, still performed his duties in silence, but there was no light behind his eyes. Even when Sangwon called his name, he’d pause only briefly—like his mind was always somewhere else. And Sangwon noticed.

He said nothing at first. But when he found Jiahao scrubbing the same section of marble floor long after it was already spotless, he knelt beside him. "You're angry at me," Sangwon said quietly.

Jiahao blinked, but then turned his face away to avoid Sangwon’s gaze. “I’m not.”

"You are," the prince said gently. "But mostly… I think you're angry at yourself."

Jiahao said nothing, his lower lip trembling slightly.

“I should’ve known it was bigger than just you and Anxin,” Sangwon said. “But I need to know—was it your idea to bring the spies into the palace?”

“No,” Jiahao whispered, begging that Sangwon would still believe in him. “They came for Anxin. I just… wanted to help.”

Sangwon sighed. “And now Anxin’s in chains. You blame yourself.”

Jiahao nodded, eyes glassy.

The second prince hesitated, then reached out and rested a hand on Jiahao’s shoulder. “He’s not the only one in danger anymore. I want to help you both—but I need the truth.”

At that, Jiahao finally looked up. “Leo knows,” he admitted. “He’s been helping too.”

Sangwon blinked. “Leo?”

“He was the one who figured out the escape,” Jiahao continued. “And the one who warned us about the guard. The two spies are still in the palace, and they’re safe only because Prince Leo warned them before the king could figure them out.”

Sangwon fell silent for a beat, then rose to his feet. “Get some rest, Jiahao. I’ll speak to Leo.”

-

Leo walked the dark corridor with quiet urgency, his footsteps muffled beneath his thick cloak. In his hands: a wrapped piece of bread and a small vial of water. The guards accepted the silver wordlessly—too used to royalty bending the rules to question it.

When he stepped inside, Anxin was curled against the stone wall, his posture eerily still.

The boy stirred faintly at the sound, blinking toward the figure now kneeling before him.

“...Leo?” he muttered, as if not believing the figure who was crouching in front of me.

Leo exhaled softly and knelt. “I brought you something. I’m sorry it’s not much.”

He unwrapped the bread, breaking it in two, placing it and the vial beside Anxin’s hands.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Anxin rasped, his throat hoarse after having no drink for at least eighteen hours.

Leo shook his head. “Neither should you.”

Silence.

Anxin took a tiny bite, chewing slowly. “They haven’t fed me since yesterday,” he confessed.

Leo looked away, ashamed. “I tried to stop it.”

“You did more than most,” Anxin said, voice softening. “Thank you.”

Leo sat with him a moment longer, his fingers trembling slightly. “Do you still want to leave?” he asked.

Anxin didn’t answer.

“I’ll help you,” Leo promised. “Remember what I said? Whatever you choose. I mean it.”

Anxin looked at him—really looked—and for a moment, he saw the boy Leo had been before all this. Quietly noble. A little awkward. Heavy with guilt.

“Thank you, I’m glad you’re here,” Anxin finally whispered.

-

Back in the privacy of one of the war council chambers, Leo sat hunched over a map when Sangwon entered, eyes sharp. “We need to talk,” Sangwon said, not bothering with the formalities to greet his brother.

Leo didn’t look up. “If it’s about Anxin, I’ve already made my decision.”

“I heard. From Jiahao,” Sangwon said. That made Leo raise his eyes. “You should’ve told me,” Sangwon continued. “We could’ve planned better. Jiahao told me that the spies are still in the palace.”

Leo nodded. “They’re hiding. For now.”

“I want to meet them,” Sangwon said.

Leo raised a brow. “You want in?”

“If it means getting Anxin and Jiahao out of this alive—yes.”

Leo studied him for a moment, then said, “You really do love him, don’t you?”

Sangwon didn't hesitate. “Do you?”

Leo’s jaw tightened. “I don’t think it matters anymore.”

For a second, neither brother spoke.

Then Leo sighed and reached for a sealed scroll. “There’s still a chance we can pull this off. But we’ll have to be smarter this time. And faster.”

Sangwon nodded. “Then let’s begin.”

-

In a secluded greenhouse rarely visited by the royal family, Leo led Sangwon through a side corridor, the door creaking softly on its hinges.

Xinlong and Boheng were already there, crouched behind crates of old gardening supplies. The moment they saw Sangwon, their hands instinctively went to their concealed daggers—until Leo raised a hand.

“He’s with me,” Leo said.

Sangwon gave a nod. “If I wanted to turn you in, I would’ve done it already.”

Boheng narrowed his eyes. “Why should we trust you?”

“Because I’m the only reason Anxin and Jiahao aren’t dead,” Sangwon replied coolly.

Xinlong considered this, then relaxed his stance. “The plan’s been delayed. The full moon passed, but we have a better window now. The Sun Festival.”

Leo crossed his arms. “That’s two weeks away.”

“Exactly,” Xinlong said. “Two weeks to finalize our route, forge travel permits, and find disguises.”

“We’ll use the chaos,” Boheng added. “The fireworks, the parades—everyone will be too drunk to notice anything, in this case, anyone, missing until morning.”

Leo glanced at Sangwon. “We’ll help,” the older prince promised the spies.

Sangwon nodded. “But I want to spend time with Anxin until then. If that’s the only thing I’m allowed, I’ll take it.”

Chapter Text

The scrape of boots on stone broke the silence of the dungeon. Anxin looked up, startled, then stilled when the flicker of torchlight revealed a familiar figure. Sangwon.

No silver glinted between the guards’ fingers this time; they simply bowed their heads and stepped aside as though his presence alone was command enough. Anxin’s heart gave a painful thrum in his chest.

“Twice in one week,” he murmured, his voice hushed, fragile, yet threaded with warmth. A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Surely a prince has better things to do than linger in the shadows.”

Sangwon’s steps slowed as he reached the bars, his gaze never leaving Anxin. “I only have one thing worth doing,” he said quietly, and in that dim chamber, it sounded like a vow.

The words settled over Anxin, softening his expression, drawing him forward until he was kneeling at the bars, close enough to breathe in the faint scent of sandalwood that clung to Sangwon’s robes.

“I spoke with your friends,” Sangwon went on, lowering his voice as though even the stones might betray them. “The plan will still go on. But it cannot happen until the Sun Festival.”

Anxin’s shoulders sank. His eyes dropped to the dirt floor, shadows falling across his face. “That’s… still a long time away.” His tone carried the weight of nights already endured, and countless more stretching ahead.

Sangwon’s hand lifted, resting against the iron between them. “Then I’ll come,” he whispered, almost desperate. “Every night, if I must. Until the day arrives- and until you forget that these walls ever held you.”

For a moment, silence pressed in, broken only by the faint drip of water echoing from the dark. Then, with hesitant courage, Anxin raised his hand, slipping slender fingers through the gap between bars.

Sangwon caught them at once, as if he had been waiting for this gesture his whole life. His grip was firm but reverent, his thumb brushing lightly over Anxin’s knuckles as though he could memorize the shape of him through touch alone.

“If you leave when the time comes,” Sangwon said, voice rough with an unspoken ache, “I won’t stop you, I swear. But let me have this- these nights with you. Just ours.”

Anxin’s throat tightened. His eyes lifted, shimmering with unshed tears, and the edges of his mouth trembled into a smile that broke and mended Sangwon’s heart all at once.

“I want that too,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of longing. "And you'll always have me, Sangwon."

-

The palace was quieter than usual that evening, the corridors hushed, as if even the stone walls had grown weary of the silence Anxin’s absence left behind. Leo’s footsteps echoed as he sought out the servants’ quarters. He found Jiahao sitting alone in the courtyard, a folded tunic in his lap, though he wasn’t working. His eyes were cast downward, distant, as if his thoughts had swallowed him whole.

For a moment, Leo only stood there, watching him. There was something in the set of Jiahao’s shoulders, the heaviness of his stillness, that mirrored the ache in his own chest.

“Jiahao,” Leo called for him softly.

The boy startled, almost dropping the tunic. When he realized who it was, he quickly stood and bowed, his voice uneven. “Your Highness,” he politely greeted.

Leo waved the formality away and gestured for him to sit. “Don’t. Not with me.”

Jiahao hesitated, then lowered himself again, carefully folding the tunic between his hands as if clinging to the small order it gave him. A stretch of silence passed before Leo spoke again. “You’ve been thinking about him.”

Jiahao’s fingers tightened on the cloth. “…Of course I have. He’s my brother.” His voice cracked. “And he’s down there, alone. I can’t even do anything for him.”

Leo sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost brushed. “You’re not the only one who feels that way,” he sighed, defeatedly.

Jiahao glanced at him, startled. For a moment, he seemed to search Leo’s face- perhaps expecting the sharp detachment of a prince, but finding only quiet sincerity instead.

Leo’s voice lowered. “I’ve been trying to think of ways to reach him. Food, messages- anything. But the guards are… always watching. I’m supposed to accept it. Pretend it doesn’t tear at me. Clearly, you know that's a lie.”

Jiahao’s eyes softened. “You care about him too.”

The words weren’t a question, but a realization. And in them, Leo heard something that unsettled him- something that felt too close to truth.

He swallowed. “…I do.”

For a moment neither of them moved. The night air pressed in, cool and heavy, as if holding the space between their breaths.

Jiahao set the tunic aside and clasped his hands together, staring at them. “I thought… the world had already decided what Anxin and I were worth. That no one else would care.” His voice dropped. “But you do.”

Leo turned toward him, heart pulling at something he couldn’t quite name. “You’re wrong. You’re worth more than you think. Both of you.”

Jiahao finally looked up- and in the dim lamplight, his gaze lingered on Leo’s longer than it should have. Something fragile passed between them then: not yet love, but recognition. A quiet bond forming in the cracks of their grief.

When Leo finally stood, he offered his hand—not as a prince to a servant, but as one boy to another. Jiahao hesitated, then took it. For the first time since Anxin had been taken into the dungeons, neither of them felt quite so alone.

-

The torchlight flickered, casting gold onto the cold stone walls. Sangwon arrived again, cloaked and hooded, the scent of night rain still clinging to his coat. Anxin was sitting with his knees pulled to his chest, his usually bright eyes dulled with exhaustion. When he looked up, something in him softened immediately.

“You came again,” he murmured.

“I’ll come every night, remember?” Sangwon replied, stepping closer to the bars. He reached into his satchel and pulled out a small, folded piece of cloth. “You used to like warm sweets, didn’t you?”

Anxin blinked. “...You remembered?”

“I remember everything,” Sangwon said. “Especially the things you didn’t think were important.”

He passed the bundle through the bars- a still-warm sweet rice cake, wrapped gently in linen. Anxin took it carefully, like it was a sacred offering. “Thank you,” he whispered.

There was a beat of silence, thick with all the words they were too afraid to say.

“I don’t know what to do, Sangwon,” Anxin admitted eventually. “I think about Caiston every day. But when I do… I see the war. I see the ruins. And when I think of staying… I think of you. And Leo- but mostly you. I don’t know where I belong anymore.”

Sangwon stepped closer to the bars, his voice low and raw. “You belong wherever you’re loved. And I love you, Anxin,” Sangwon confessed. “Whether you leave or stay. Whether you become a prince again… or choose to stay here until we can work something out.”

Anxin’s eyes shimmered. “You shouldn’t say that.”

“Why?” Sangwon asked.

“Because it makes me want to stay.”

Sangwon cupped his hand through the bars, thumb brushing against Anxin’s cheek. “Then stay, if that’s what you want. Not for duty. Not for guilt. But for you.”

Anxin pressed his forehead against the cold metal. “If I do… I fear I’ll lose myself. And if I go… I fear that I’ll lose you.”

“You can never lose me,” Sangwon replied, then he continued to rest his brow against Anxin’s through the iron bars, sharing silence as tender as a kiss.

-

Leo paced restlessly through the empty corridor outside his chambers, unable to shake the echo of Anxin’s voice when the guards dragged him away. He had ordered wine, books, and reports, but everything sat untouched on his table. His hands curled into fists. I couldn’t protect him. I promised I would, and I failed, his thoughts rang.

A soft sound caught his ear. Turning, he saw Jiahao standing at the far end of the hall, holding a tray with untouched food. His posture was uncertain, but his eyes carried the same heaviness Leo felt in his chest.

“You’re awake too,” Leo said quietly.

Jiahao nodded, stepping closer. “The kitchens sent this for you. I thought…” He hesitated, then added, “I thought you shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Leo’s throat tightened at the simple words. Without thinking, he gestured for Jiahao to follow him inside. His room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of a single lamp. Jiahao set the tray down, but instead of stepping back, he lingered near the table, hands clasped as if he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Do you ever feel powerless?” Leo asked suddenly. His voice was sharper than he intended. “Like no matter what you do, it isn’t enough?”

Jiahao looked at him steadily. “Every single day.”

Leo froze, the weight of that quiet confession sinking in.

Jiahao continued, his voice softer now. “When I saw Anxin again in the market, I wanted to run to him. To hold him. But I couldn’t. I wasn’t strong enough to even save myself, let alone save him. I couldn’t even help with the rescue plan much before it got spoiled by your guard. The day they took Anxin away, I wanted to kill myself, Leo.”

Leo stared at him, the words hitting deeper than he expected. For the first time all night, the pressure on his chest eased.

“Then what made you stay?” he asked, carefully.

Jiahao gave a small, shy smile. “Sangwon told me that Anxin is still hopeful,” Jiahao answered. “And if he’s still fighting, then I’m not going to give up.”

“Then we wait together,” Leo smiled softly at him, earning him a small nod from the Caistonian servant.

Silence stretched, heavy but not suffocating. Then Leo moved closer, lowering himself onto the bench beside Jiahao. Their shoulders brushed. Neither pulled away. For a moment, neither prince nor servant, they simply sat together- two boys holding their grief in the quiet, steady glow of the lamplight.

And in that stillness, Leo realized: he wasn’t as alone as he thought.

Chapter Text

Chaos broke over the palace suddenly like a thunderclap.

In the early morning hours, King Changwoo collapsed during a private breakfast meeting. By noon, he was unconscious. A physician whispered the word poison.

Panic ensued in the palace. The staff, driven by fear, turned to blame. The whispers began immediately-“It must be the Caistonian servant.” “He has a motive-vengeance.” “It’s all to save the boy in the dungeon.”

They all pointed to Jiahao, but no one had seen him near the king’s quarters. There was no cup in his hands, no flask hidden in his clothing. And no servant could be detained on such a charge without the approval of their noble patron.

Which brought them to Prince Sangwon. When confronted, Sangwon’s voice was cold as steel. “No one touches my servant without proof. If he’s guilty, I will handle it,” he dismissed their charges decisively.

Still, Jiahao could feel the palace’s suspicion pressing down on him like a suffocating veil. And furthermore, he saw Leo shouldering an entirely different weight.

With the king unresponsive and the realm in need of guidance, the royal council convened. The subject on every tongue: Should Leo take the crown?

“He’s too young,” said the Minister of War.

“He’s impulsive,” said the High Treasurer.

“But he is the king’s firstborn,” murmured others. “And we need a decision-maker, soon.”

Leo, now sleepless and sharp from grief and ambition, watched the council bicker. But his mind had already moved far beyond them. He saw a new possibility.

If he became king, he could change everything. He could end the war with Caiston- not with more blood, but with an actual alliance. He would free Anxin, and return him not as a prisoner, but as a prince. If Anxin wished to marry Sangwon, Leo would give them his sincere blessings. And that union- between the Crown Prince of Caiston and the younger Kaelian prince- would form a true, unforced alliance. One not born of surrender… but of love.

But first, Leo needed the council to see him as a king.

-

Sangwon sat in his chamber, the heavy silence broken only by the faint rustle of the wind against the silk curtains. His face was stern, but his eyes betrayed worry. Jiahao stood in front of him, hands clasped tightly behind his back, his eyes downcast.

“They’re saying you poisoned my father,” Sangwon said softly. “That you slipped something into his morning tea.”

“I didn’t,” Jiahao said quickly, eyes finally meeting Sangwon’s. He was contemplating whether he should kneel in front of the younger prince, but then remembered how much Sangwon hated it whenever he did it. “I swear on everything I have, I would never do that.”

“I want to believe you,” Sangwon said, stepping closer. “But the entire court is circling like wolves. If there’s anything you’ve kept hidden, you have to tell me now.”

Jiahao’s voice trembled, he wasn't expecting the problem to escalate this soon. “I was part of the plan to help Anxin escape. But I had nothing to do with the king’s poisoning, please believe me.”

Sangwon studied him for a long moment, then let out a slow breath. “Alright, I believe you.”

Jiahao blinked, startled. “You do?”

“I’ve paid attention to you for a while, by now,” Sangwon said, quieter now. “And if there’s anything I notice, I know that you’re a bad liar. I believe you, Jiahao, but I need to protect you. So until this settles… don’t be alone. Don’t go near any of the council members, and try not to talk to too many people. Promise me.”

“I promise,” the Caistonian boy said.

-

Meanwhile, words travelled fast in the palace, and the news about the king’s poisoning and the suspicion of who was behind it quickly reached the palace dungeons. The dungeon was always cold, but tonight it felt especially cruel. Anxin stirred when he heard the sound of murmuring outside his cell door- two guards on shift, voices lowered but not enough.

“-heard they’re pointing fingers at the Caistonian servant. Jiahao, was it?” one guard snickered.

“The pretty one? Tch. Looks innocent, but they say he’s clever,” another one added. “Always hanging around the princes. He’s a dangerous one, for sure.”

“Still no proof though, and Prince Sangwon’s protecting him like crazy,” a third guard chimed in. “Would’ve been in chains by now if it weren’t for that.”

Anxin’s blood ran cold, holding a gasp that was about to escape from his mouth. The guards weren’t aware that he had been listening, but the news caused the imprisoned prince to grow anxious. He sat up slowly, the blanket slipping from his shoulders.

Jiahao… they're blaming you.

He gripped the edge of the cot, mind racing. If they come for him, he won’t have a chance. They’ll make him pay for something he didn’t do.

-

The bells rang on the third night. Mournful, heavy tolls that echoed across the mountainside palace. The king had passed quietly in his sleep, his body finally giving in to the poison that had lingered too long in his veins.

The kingdom mourned, but the council moved quickly for power could not remain idle. The council chamber was tense when Prince Leo entered, clad in black ceremonial robes, the shadows under his eyes betraying sleepless nights.

He didn’t wait for them to speak.

“I know the council questions my readiness,” Leo began, voice calm, almost cold. “And I understand. I'm young, and I’ve made mistakes, but I will prove to you that I am worthy.”

He met their eyes, one by one, as if challenging them for authority.

“I will find my father’s murderer. Whether they wear rags or robes, I will see them brought to justice. In return, I ask for your loyalty—when the truth is revealed, and justice is served.”

A pause.

“And when I become king, I will not only protect this realm… I will rebuild it. Stronger. Wiser. More just.”

There was silence. Then murmuring. Uneasy but impressed.

An old minister stood up and spoke first. “You speak very boldly, Prince Leo. Let us see if you act as boldly.”

-

Leo moved through the palace like a shadow, questioning servants, consulting alchemists, demanding records of the king’s meals and movements. But no matter how deep he dug, no one had a clear motive, and nothing pointed to a conclusive suspect.

No trace of poison in Jiahao’s quarters. No suspicious purchases from local apothecaries. The leads all ran cold.

But then, an unexpected voice returned.

The next day, Sihwan stood before the council, spine straight, voice steady. His eyes gleamed with the righteous vengeance of a man with nothing to lose.

“I bring new evidence,” he said. “The real poisoner wasn’t the Caistonian servant. It was Prince Sangwon.”

Gasps rippled across the chamber. Leo clenched his fists in anger at the guard’s baseless accusation against his brother. Sangwon was caught off-guard with the sudden spotlight on him.

Sihwan continued, “He had access to the king’s chambers. He’s loyal to no one but the foreign prince he now protects. Do you want his motive? He wanted the king dead so he could be free to consort with a political hostage- one he’s madly in love with.”

Murmurs turned to outrage. Leo stood frozen.

“And what of the servant, Jiahao?” asked one of the ministers.

“He’s just a pawn in Prince Sangwon’s guilt,” Sihwan said, voice hard. “That’s why Prince Sangwon has been protecting him so fiercely. It was never about justice. It was about hiding his own crime.”

Chapter Text

“That’s why Sangwon has been protecting him so fiercely. It was never about justice. It was about hiding his own crime.”

Sihwan’s accusation caused a quiet chaos in the courtroom. All eyes were on Leo, who was supposed to make the decision as the person leading the investigation of his father’s assassination. He sat high in the council’s chair, his father’s empty throne looming above, an ever-present reminder of the void he was expected to fill. His jaw locked, his pulse deafening in his ears. He could feel the council’s stares like knives against his skin, demanding a decision.

“You’ve heard the testimony. What will you do, Your Highness? Will you let an accused traitor-your own brother-walk free? Or will you prove yourself fit to rule?” One of the elder councilors, stern and shrewd, leaned toward Leo.

Leo’s fingers dug into the arms of his chair. “Sangwon… my own brother.” His mind raced, desperately clawing for clarity. He had no proof of Sangwon’s innocence, nothing but faith, and faith alone was not enough here. Not in this chamber where every word was weighed against the crown. Not when he was getting so close to actually make real change in their kingdom.

Across the floor, Sangwon stood rigid. His usual grace was gone, stripped bare under the weight of accusation. His fists clenched at his sides, his face pale but his eyes burning with disbelief. “Leo,” he whispered, stepping forward. “You know I didn’t do it. You know me. As much as I disagree with father’s actions, I could never lift my hand to murder him.”

Leo’s breath hitched. His brother’s voice pulled at every fragile bond between them. A thousand memories surged-of laughter, of rivalry, of standing shoulder to shoulder against the world. He wanted to shout, I believe you. I always will. He wanted to pull his younger brother into a hug and protect him from all the evils of this world.

But the council’s eyes were still on him, waiting, measuring his worth as the potential heir. Leo said nothing for a long moment. “If I defend him without proof… they will say I am weak. They will strip us both of everything. I will lose him anyway,” he thought to himself. Then, with great difficulty, he turned to the guards.

“…Until the matter is investigated properly,” Leo said, his voice cold and even, “Prince Sangwon is to be confined.”

Sangwon stumbled back, shock flashing across his features. His breath caught as though Leo had struck him. “No,” he whispered, his voice raw. “Leo, you’re not serious.”

Leo descended the steps, every movement heavy as chains. He lowered his voice, speaking softly so that only Sangwon could hear. “I have no choice. If I go against them without proof, we both fall. Please… understand.”

But there was no understanding in Sangwon’s eyes. Only betrayal. His jaw trembled, his lips parting as if the ground itself had given way beneath him. The guards moved in, seizing his arms.

“You said you’d help me protect him,” Sangwon choked out, his voice cracking as they pulled him back. He struggled against their grip, his eyes never leaving Leo’s. “You said you’d stand by me- Leo! ”

Leo’s chest burned, his nails cutting into his palms. He wanted to tear the guards away, to scream that Sangwon was innocent, to damn the council and the crown all at once. But he stood frozen, every muscle locked by the invisible weight of duty.

Leo’s eyes met his brother’s as they dragged him away, brimming with guilt he could not voice. Sangwon’s stare burned into him, heartbroken and betrayed, until the heavy door closed between them.

-

The cell was colder than what Sangwon had imagined. Cold not in temperature alone, but in spirit-the kind of chill that seeped into the bones, gnawed at the heart, and reminded him with every breath that he was no longer a prince, but a prisoner, accused of his own father’s murder. The walls were damp stone, stained with age and iron. Shadows clung to the corners, heavy and unmoving. The single torch outside his bars flickered low, casting more darkness than light. The air reeked faintly of rust and damp earth, of chains that had seen too many wrists.

And through it all, Sangwon sat on the narrow bench, staring at the floor, his arms limp at his sides. It hadn’t sunk in at first. When the guards dragged him down the stone steps, his body had moved without thought-muscle memory of resisting, but not enough to fight. His ears had still been ringing with his brother’s voice, with the words Leo had spoken as though they’d been carved from ice: Prince Sangwon is to be confined.

Confined. Like a criminal. Like a murderer.

His brother’s voice, cold and measured, replayed in his mind over and over. I have no choice…

Sangwon’s throat tightened. “No choice?” he whispered into the emptiness, his words trembling as they left him. “You had a choice, Leo. You always had a choice.”

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, as if he could scrub the memory away. It didn’t work. He still saw the look on Leo’s face-the hesitation, the guilt, the way he couldn’t meet his eyes when the guards pulled him away.

That was what broke him. Not the council’s accusations.

But Leo’s silence.

“You said you’d stand by me. You promised. And now…”

He curled forward, his body trembling, his breath catching against the stone floor beneath him. He wanted to scream. To curse the council, to curse Sihwan's baseless accusation, to curse fate itself. But all he could manage was a single, raw sound lodged in his chest-a strangled thing that was half-sob, and half-gasp.

Tears came then, unbidden. He hated them, despised them, but they came all the same, streaking hot against his chilled skin. The sound of his own crying echoed back to him, swallowed by the stone.

“I was never enough for him,” he thought bitterly, clutching at his knees. “ Not as a brother. Not as a prince. I tried to protect him, to carry his burdens, to shield him from the shadows of the crown… and when it mattered most, he chose them over me.”

The words tasted like ash, but they were the truth.

He thought of Anxin then. Anxin’s quiet strength, his way of listening, his way of making Sangwon feel-if only for a moment-that he wasn’t just another pawn in the endless game of the throne. Anxin had looked at him with something Leo no longer did: trust. The thought steadied him, barely. He sat back against the wall, his breath still ragged, his chest still tight. Then, the feeling of longing came to him. He longed to hold Anxin, to hear his voice. Sangwon didn’t even know if Anxin was still doing alright, imprisoned at the opposite ends of the castle.

The cell felt endless. Hours stretched into something shapeless, marked only by the distant drip of water and the occasional shuffle of guards above. Sangwon pressed his back to the wall, staring at the barred door until his vision blurred.

And yet, beneath the grief, beneath the betrayal, a quiet ember stirred. Not anger, no, that would have been easier. Something softer. Something almost foolish.

“Anxin… if I can survive this… if I can hold on until the truth comes…”

He closed his eyes, whispering into the silence. “Then maybe… I won’t have to be alone.”

The words lingered in the stale air, fragile and desperate. And for the first time since the doors had slammed shut, Sangwon allowed himself to hope-not for freedom, not for redemption, but simply for a hand to reach through the bars and remind him that he was still worth saving.

Chapter Text

Anxin had grown thinner. His cheekbones pressed sharper against his skin, his wrists like fragile reeds against the iron shackles that bound him. Each day in the dungeon scraped something away-his strength, his warmth, even the sound of his own voice.

The only thing that tethered him was the rhythm of light. Morning brought a dim gray through the slit of stone high above. Evening brought a brief glimmer of moonlight, spilling pale and silver across the floor just long enough for him to trace its movement with his eyes. It was how he kept count. How he reminded himself that time was still moving forward, that Sangwon would return.

Sangwon had always returned.

But the days had stretched thin, one bleeding into the next. No footsteps had paused outside his cell. No voice, warm and steady, had whispered through the bars.

Anxin told himself that Sangwon was simply being careful. That the prince could not risk being seen too often lingering in the dungeons. That he would come back when it was safe, when no eyes were watching. He clung to that thought with the desperation of a drowning man clutching driftwood.

Until the guards came. They were laughing-too loud, and too careless. The kind of laughter that reveled in cruelty.

“Two royal brats in the dungeons now,” one jeered, spitting to the side. “Never thought I’d see it. Who’d thought that the king’s murderer is his own son who’s stupidly in love with that Caistonian slave.”

The other snorted, leaning against the bars as if savoring the sound of Anxin’s ragged breathing. “Then his imprisonment is well deserved,” his gaze slid toward Anxin’s cell door, sly and cutting. “They’ll both rot down here.”

The words hit harder than any blow.

Anxin’s body went cold, every vein turning to ice. His breath caught in his throat, sharp and painful, as if he’d swallowed glass. He stumbled back from the bars, his knees buckling beneath him. His back struck the wall, and he slid down until the filthy straw pressed against his legs.

“No…” His voice was a broken rasp, a sound even he barely recognized. “Not him. Please-not him.”

But the guards were already walking away, their laughter trailing down the corridor like nails against stone. The silence left behind was unbearable.

Anxin pressed trembling hands to his mouth, as though he could hold in the sob clawing its way out of his chest. His eyes burned, tears spilling freely as he shook his head over and over. “I did this,” he whispered, his words cracking like fragile glass. “I brought him down here. They came for me and took him instead. Gods, I wish he's alright...”

The weight of it crushed him. He folded forward, burying his face in his hands, his body shuddering with each breath. His fingers clenched at the rough weave of his torn sleeves until the threads snapped beneath his grip.

The ache in his chest was unbearable, a wound deeper than flesh. He wanted to scream until the stones themselves cracked. He wanted to tear the bars apart with his bare hands, to run away and reunite with Sangwon.

But when he opened his mouth, no sound came. Only silence. Only grief.

And beneath it all-something else.

A voice, small but unyielding, buried deep in his heart. It whispered, steady and insistent, even as despair swallowed him whole:

Live. For him. Don’t let them take both of you.

Anxin curled onto the straw, clutching his chest as if he could hold that ember of hope inside him. He closed his eyes, and in the darkness behind his lids he saw Sangwon’s face-gentle, protective, his smile like sunlight piercing through storm clouds.

It was agony to think of him. But it was also the only thing that kept Anxin breathing.

-

The clank of keys startled Anxin, who was curled quietly in the corner of his cell. Expecting another routine check-or perhaps another jeer-he didn’t look up until the footsteps paused.

It wasn’t one of the loud ones this time. This man moved with restraint.

“Anxin,” came a voice-low, calm, almost apologetic. “My name is Kangmin. I'm... the head guard on your floor.”

Anxin raised his head slowly, skeptical.

Kangmin looked around, confirming they were alone, then knelt just outside the bars. He didn’t hold himself like a soldier right now. He looked more like a man weighed down by duty.

“My family has served in the royal guards for decades,” Kangmin said. “I, myself, had been training in the palace since I was a teenager. But I’ve never seen anything quite as cruel as this. Two young men thrown in cages for things they haven’t even been proven guilty of.”

Anxin didn’t reply, unsure if this was a trick.

Kangmin continued, softer this time, “I heard about the prince. Sangwon. You were close to him.”

The silence stretched. “I haven’t seen him,” Anxin finally whispered. “Is he... is he really here?”

Kangmin shook his head regretfully. “They locked him in the opposite tower. Same condition as you. No contact.”

Anxin’s throat clenched. “Can you... tell him something? Please?”

Kangmin gave him the faintest smile. “That’s why I came.”

Anxin moved closer to the bars, voice trembling. “Tell him... I’m still waiting. That I’m alive. And I’m sorry he’s here because of me.”

Kangmin nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. “Don't blame yourself, it's really not your fault. But if that's what you want, then I’ll deliver it. I’ll even write it down if he asks to see your words.”

Anxin looked at him with damp, grateful eyes. “Thank you.”

-

The council’s words still echoed in Leo’s mind, “Will you let your own brother walk free?” He hadn’t answered then. He couldn’t. But he was working now-quietly, in the suffocating silence of the royal study, with doors locked and guards dismissed under the guise of “mourning.”

The chamber still smelled faintly of his father’s ink and wax. Scrolls and documents were stacked in precarious towers across the oak desk, neat on the surface but full of hidden disorder. Leo sifted through them methodically, his hands steady though his chest was tight with doubt.

He needed proof. Proof that Sangwon hadn’t done what they accused him of. Proof that would not only clear his brother’s name, but also keep the crown from slipping through his own trembling fingers.

Hours passed before his eyes caught on a single scroll tucked among routine war accounts. Its wax seal was torn, as though it had been pried open and then clumsily pressed shut again. Leo frowned. His father would never have tolerated such carelessness.

Unrolling the parchment, he found it was a letter from House Namgi, one of the loudest supporters of the late king’s war campaigns. The words at first seemed routine-discussions of troop movements, border patrols, resources. But then, midway down the page, Leo noticed something strange.

A sentence about the “Caistonian prisoner being a potential danger” looked as though it had been rewritten. The ink was darker, layered over faded strokes beneath. He leaned closer, angling the parchment toward the lamplight.

There. Beneath the overwritten line, faint but unmistakable, the original name had been scratched out and replaced. The warning about Anxin had not come from Lord Namgi at all. The handwriting was from someone within the palace. Someone close.

Leo’s pulse quickened.

Who here would have both the access to intercept such letters and the boldness to alter them? Only a handful of his father’s personal guards handled correspondence before it reached the king.

At least he could prove that one thing was clear: his brother had been right. Someone was working from the shadows, twisting words, feeding poison into his father’s ear long before the night of his death.

Leo pressed the parchment flat with both hands, staring at the smudged name until the letters blurred. There was a traitor in the palace. And if he could find the hand that forged these lies, he would find the one who killed his father.

-

The door creaked open in the dim, damp tower where Sangwon sat chained-not for restraint, but for humiliation. He looked up, startled, expecting another guard to gawk or spit near the floor.

But instead, he saw the man with kind eyes and a quiet step.

“Kangmin,” Sangwon said cautiously. “You’re the head of Anxin’s floor, aren’t you?”

Kangmin nodded, his posture respectful. “I didn’t expect Your Highness would remember me. He asked me to give you this.”

He handed Sangwon a small folded piece of paper, worn from being held too tightly. Sangwon’s hands trembled as he took it, eyes scanning the message like he’d found a lifeline.

“I’m still waiting. I’m alive. And I’m sorry you’re here because of me.”

Sangwon clutched it to his chest. “Thank you,” he whispered hoarsely. “Though, I hate that he's blaming himself for the things happening to us both. How... how is he?”

Kangmin hesitated. “Not well. The grief has made him stop eating. He’s barely speaking to anyone but me.”

The prince’s hands tightened into fists. “Please,” Sangwon said, leaning forward as much as his chains would allow. “Please take care of him. Don’t let him fade like this. If I could switch places with him-”

“You can’t,” Kangmin interrupted gently. “But I will do everything I can. You have my word.”

Sangwon nodded slowly, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. “I don’t know how to repay you.”

“Hold on, for all of us in the kingdom that still believe in you,” Kangmin said simply. “And Anxin is still waiting for you, so be strong, my prince.”

Chapter Text

The chamber was quiet except for the scrape of parchment as Leo dragged another letter into the lamplight. The hour was deep, the castle hushed in uneasy sleep, but his mind refused to rest. Stacks of scrolls littered the table in disarray, the order of his father’s once-disciplined study broken by Leo’s restless searching.

Two letters lay side by side before him. One bore the wax seal of Lord Namgi, urging vigilance at the border. The other, unsigned, warned of “Caistonian infiltration” and “the danger of foreign sympathizers in the palace.” At first glance, they seemed like ordinary correspondence. But Leo’s eye, sharpened by hours of comparison, caught the irregularities—the same odd curvature in the “s” and “f,” the uneven pressure that left faint dents in the parchment. The marks of a hurried hand. A careless imitation.

His fingers curled into fists against the desk. This was it. Proof—though faint—that someone had tampered with his father’s counsel. Someone close. Someone determined to brand Sangwon, Anxin, and anyone connected to Caiston as poison in the king’s court.

The door creaked. Leo’s head snapped up, his heart pounding.

“Still awake?” a familiar voice called out to him.

Jiahao stood at the threshold, shadows stretching behind him. His steps were careful, as though he wasn’t sure he was welcome. He looked thinner, the grief of the past weeks etched into the set of his shoulders—but his eyes, steady and sharp, met Leo’s without flinching.

Leo exhaled slowly and gestured him in. “Come in. I… need your help.”

Jiahao blinked. “Mine?” His voice held both surprise and wariness.

Leo pushed the two letters across the table. “You’ve worked close to the staff. You know who writes what- how reports are signed, who handles what documents. Look here.” He tapped the smudged word, the overwritten letters. “Whoever forged this was careless. If we can match the handwriting, we’ll have a lead.”

Jiahao stepped closer, his gaze scanning the parchment with deliberate calm. He bent low, fingertips brushing the uneven strokes, tracing the dents pressed into the page. His brow furrowed. “This… this wasn’t Lord Namgi’s hand. You’re right. Whoever wrote this was trying too hard to mimic him. They pressed too deep, see? That’s a soldier’s grip, not a courtier’s.”

Leo stilled, the weight of Jiahao’s words sinking in. A soldier’s grip. That narrowed their search field by a lot.

He looked up sharply. “If we find them… we’ll know who killed my father, who framed Sangwon,” his voice dropped, tight with fury and grief. “I won’t let them destroy this kingdom from within.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then Jiahao straightened, his expression shifting from detached analysis to something harder—resolve.

“I’ll search the archives,” he said. “The palace keeps records-signatures for reports, inventory lists, letters drafted by the guard captains. If the same hand appears there, we’ll find it.”

Leo’s throat tightened. He hadn’t realized until now how much he needed someone to stand with him in this. He lowered his gaze, then murmured, almost reluctantly, “Thank you… for trusting me with this.”

Jiahao’s lips curved faintly-not quite a smile, more like the shadow of one. “This isn’t for you, Leo.” He placed his hand flat against the desk, near the parchment. “Sangwon shielded me twice from death. I owe him more than I can repay. If this clears his name, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Leo’s eyes lingered on him, searching. There was no hesitation in Jiahao’s voice, no fear of stepping into dangerous waters. Just loyalty—fierce, unwavering.

For the first time in days, Leo felt the heaviness in his chest ease, if only slightly.

“Then we’ll do this together,” he said quietly.

The lamplight flickered between them, catching the determination in both their eyes, binding prince and servant in a fragile but growing alliance.

-

The archives smelled of dust and candle wax, a place few bothered to visit unless commanded by duty. Rows of shelves pressed close together, their ledgers stacked high with years of records-supply lists, guard rotations, letters dictated and copied by hand.

Jiahao moved carefully, a single lantern casting a narrow circle of light as he traced the spines of old tomes. Leo’s words still echoed in his mind: “I need your help. If we can match the handwriting, we’ll have a lead.”

He set the lantern down, opening the first ledger. Page after page, the signatures of captains and scribes lined the margins-neat, flowing, practiced. Nothing close to the rough, heavy-handed imitation Leo had shown him.

Jiahao turned another page. His eyes caught on a flourish in one name-the same uneven slant, the over-pressed ink that nearly tore the parchment. His pulse quickened.

Before he could study it further, footsteps echoed faintly in the corridor beyond. Jiahao snapped the ledger half-shut and looked up. From the shadows, a figure stepped into view.

“Looking for something, Caistonian?” he snickered. Sihwan’s voice was low, sharp as a blade. He leaned casually against a shelf, but his eyes glinted with hostility.

Jiahao’s grip tightened on the ledger. “Just helping the prince investigate.”

“Investigate?” the guard scoffed, taking a slow step forward. “That’s a fine word for it. More like worming your way deeper into our politics. First your prince seduces one of ours, now you’ve managed to get the other to dance to your tune.”

The barb hit, but Jiahao forced his expression steady. He closed the ledger with a deliberate thud and held it against his chest. “If my helping Leo bothers you so much, perhaps it’s because you have something to hide. Otherwise, why stop me?”

For the first time, Sihwan’s smirk faltered. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing.

“You’re not one of us,” he said coldly. “You never will be, so stop trying.”

Jiahao let out a breath, more steady than he felt. He looked Sihwan up and down, voice cutting through the thick silence. “Strange words from a man who claims loyalty to the kingdom. You speak of purity, but you fear scrutiny. Almost as if the truth might expose you.”

Their eyes locked, the air taut with unspoken threat. For the briefest moment, Jiahao saw something flicker in Sihwan’s gaze—an unease, quickly buried beneath scorn.

Jiahao stepped forward, forcing Sihwan aside with quiet defiance. His voice dropped, calm but edged with steel. “I’ll be reporting this to Prince Leo. And if I find your name in these records…” He lifted the ledger just slightly. “…I won’t keep it a secret.”

Sihwan didn’t move to stop him. But as Jiahao walked past, he could feel the man’s stare burning into his back—sharp, calculating, dangerous.

Jiahao exhaled only once he’d left the corridor behind. His hands trembled faintly around the ledger, but his mind was sharper than ever.

-

Back in the dungeons, Kangmin knelt beside the thin, damp mat that served as Anxin’s bed. A bowl of warm rice porridge sat untouched on the ground.

“Please,” Kangmin said, voice strained. “Sangwon’s orders. He said you need to eat, that he’s worried sick.”

Anxin turned his face toward the wall, skin pale, eyes rimmed red from sleepless nights.

“I can’t,” he whispered. “What’s the point? He’s locked away. Because of me.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is.” Anxin slowly sat up, bones aching from the cold. “He visited me every day. Brought me hope. I told him I’d wait, and he said he’d protect me. Then he stopped coming. I heard the guards say that he’s imprisoned, just like me. No one would’ve tried to put the blame on him if he hadn’t stood up for me so much in the past.”

Kangmin’s face softened. “I’m sorry. But please know that he never stopped asking about you.”

Anxin drew in a shaky breath. “Do you want to know everything? I wasn’t even supposed to fall in love with Prince Sangwon”

And so, as Anxin had all the time in the world, he told Kangmin everything from the beginning. From the day he met Sangwon, to their kiss in the moonlight, to the plan to escape, and Sangwon’s unwavering support. He spoke in broken fragments, grief-touched, but clear.

“He didn’t kill the king,” Anxin whispered. “He doesn’t have it in him. Sangwon would never do something that cruel. He even protected Jiahao when no one else would. He’s kind. Brave. And now he’s paying the price for loving me.”

Kangmin sat silently for a while, letting the words settle between them.

“Do you still want to escape?” he asked gently.

Anxin looked up, eyes dull. “Only if I take Sangwon with me.”

Kangmin nodded slowly. “Then you eat. You live. You wait. And I’ll make sure he knows.”

For the first time in days, Anxin took the bowl and raised the spoon to his lips.

Chapter Text

The late afternoon sun slanted low through the high windows, painting the study in gold and shadow. Scrolls and ledgers littered the desk before Leo, their ink blurring together as his weary eyes traced them for the hundredth time. His quill lay idle at his side, forgotten.

The door creaked open. Leo glanced up, expecting another attendant or guard. Instead, it was Jiahao—quiet, composed, but with a guarded intensity in his eyes. He carried a folded parchment against his chest.

“I think I’ve found something,” Jiahao said softly as he approached Leo.

Leo straightened, exhaustion falling from him in an instant. “Go on.”

Jiahao stepped forward and laid the parchment on the desk between them. His fingers lingered for a moment on the page, as if weighing the weight of what he was about to reveal. “I dug into Sihwan’s background. His record isn’t clean. He wasn’t born a palace guard at all- he was conscripted out of a northern penal unit. Someone erased most of the traces, but in an old military ledger, I found enough. Theft. Assault. Even insubordination… against a royal superior.”

Leo’s brows furrowed as he bent over the parchment, reading each line carefully. He traced the faded ink with his thumb, as though by touch he might glean the truth faster. His jaw tightened. “A man with this history… should never have passed screening for royal guard duty. Let alone be stationed in my father’s wing.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Jiahao said. He hesitated, then added quietly, “He confronted me in the archives. Tried to stop me from looking further.”

Leo’s head snapped up, concern flashing in his eyes. “He threatened you?”

“Not in words. But his meaning was clear enough.” Jiahao’s voice was steady, though his hand, still resting on the parchment, betrayed a faint tremor.

For a moment, the silence between them was heavy- broken only by the rustle of papers in the evening breeze. Then Leo leaned back, studying Jiahao not as a servant, nor even as an ally, but as someone who had risked himself for the truth.

“Jiahao,” Leo said, his voice low but certain, “you may have saved not only my brother… but this kingdom.”

The words seemed to catch Jiahao off guard. His lips parted slightly, his composure faltering. “I… I only did what had to be done.”

“No.” Leo shook his head, his eyes unwavering. “You’re braver than most of the councilors I’ve seen quake these last few weeks. And sharper than half my advisors combined.” His tone softened, almost reluctant, but sincere. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Jiahao looked away then, as if the weight of Leo’s gaze was too much. A faint color rose to his cheeks, barely visible in the fading light.

Their eyes met again- silent, steady, charged with something unspoken. The air seemed to be still around them, as if the study itself were holding its breath.

At last, Jiahao cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice gentler than before.

Leo gave the faintest smile, weary but genuine. “Let’s continue to find all the proof we need. Together.”

-

The great hall was empty after dusk, save for the faint crackle of torches along the walls. Sihwan stood at attention near the far archway, his hands clasped behind his back. He wasn’t truly on duty- he was listening.

Through the half-open door of the council chamber, he could hear two stewards whispering.

“…Prince Leo and the servant from Caiston- pouring over ledgers, comparing letters.”
“They say the prince barely sleeps now. He keeps the foreigner close, as if he were… an advisor.”
“A dangerous thing, that. The council won’t like it.” Sihwan’s lips thinned. So, the dog was meddling after all. And worse, the Crown prince seemed to trust him.

When the stewards departed, Sihwan lingered in the quiet, staring at the blackened hearth as his mind worked. He had been patient. Careful. He had framed Sangwon, silenced suspicion, kept the kingdom’s fury aimed squarely at Caiston. But if Leo continued down this path- if that Caistonian wretch fed him enough truth- everything would unravel. He would not allow it.

From the folds of his cloak, Sihwan drew a small vial. The liquid inside was clear as water, catching the torchlight with a faint shimmer. A soldier’s trick he had carried from his days in the penal units- a toxin that left no scent, no taste, only a slow fever that ended in death.

His plan unfolded with ruthless clarity: Leo would fall ill after one of their nightly “investigations.” And who better to blame than the Caistonian always at his side? The council would seize on it immediately- proof that Sangwon’s servant had poisoned the heir to the throne.

Leo, gone. Jiahao, condemned. Anxin, left to rot.
And the kingdom- purged of Caiston’s poison once and for all.

Sihwan slipped the vial back into his cloak and resumed his steady march through the corridors. His expression was impassive, unreadable, but in his eyes burned the cold satisfaction of a man already imagining victory.

-

Meanwhile, in the northern tower’s dark dungeons, Sangwon’s cell door creaked open, and Sangwon stirred from his spot by the narrow window. When he saw Kangmin, he rose quickly. “Well?” he asked, voice urgent.

Kangmin gave the prince a small, tired smile. “He’s starting to eat again.”

Sangwon’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank the stars... I was starting to fear that he-” He stopped, swallowing the rest of his thought.

Kangmin stepped closer. “He told me everything. About your relationship. About how much he trusts you.”

A long pause passed before Sangwon whispered, “I should’ve protected him better. If I hadn’t been so visible, so open... maybe he wouldn’t be here now.”

Kangmin hesitated, then spoke. “If I may, and with all due respect, Your Highness… I think Prince Leo never meant to betray you.”

Sangwon scoffed bitterly. “He let me be dragged out like a traitor. Left me here to rot.”

“He’s playing the court’s game to protect you both,” Kangmin tried to reason. “I think you know that.”

Sangwon didn’t respond at first. Then, quietly, he spoke. “Even if that’s true… I needed him. And he wasn’t there.”

“I can send your message to Prince Leo,” Kangmin offered. “Ask him to come visit you. It’s been lonely here, I’m sure. Before all of this, you’re closer to your brother than anyone else in the palace. You feel betrayed, but you certainly miss him, don’t you?”

Sangwon couldn’t really refute. As much as he was furious at Leo… he understood why his brother had pulled such a stunt in front of the kingdom’s royal court. What left his bitterness was the fact that Leo had never visited him, not even once, as if he was only an afterthought in Leo’s memories. 

Sangwon had always tried to be strong, to look happy, to reduce the burden that Leo had to shoulder. But this very moment, he just wanted to be Leo’s younger brother again.

-

The iron door screeched open, the sound echoing against damp stone. A rush of stale, cold air met Leo as he stepped inside. For a moment, he froze.

Sangwon sat against the wall, knees drawn up, his hair unkempt and face pale beneath the torchlight. His wrists bore faint bruises where chains had once held him, and his lips were cracked from thirst. He didn’t look up right away.

When he did, his eyes lingered on Leo with something rawer than anger.
“You finally remembered I exist?” His voice was hoarse, thin from disuse, but it carried the sharpness of a blade.

Leo swallowed hard. The sight of him, his own brother, once radiant with laughter and fire, now reduced to this, hit him like a blow to the chest. He had imagined this meeting so many times, told himself he would be ready. But nothing prepared him for the hollowness in Sangwon’s gaze.

“I should’ve come sooner,” Leo said quietly, stepping forward. His words felt too small, too brittle to carry the weight of his guilt.

Sangwon rose slowly, unsteady but proud, refusing to let the cold stone floor make him small. “You didn’t come at all. Not once. Days. It’s almost been a week, Leo. I thought-” His voice cracked, and he looked away, swallowing hard. “I thought I was forgettable to you. Replaceable.”

Leo flinched. “Never,” he whispered, fierce but broken. “Sangwon, never. I was… I told myself I was working to free you, to fix this mess, that if I just found proof-” He faltered, shame burning in his throat. “But there’s no excuse. I should have been here. You’re my brother. I should have been here.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy with all the days lost.

Sangwon’s hands trembled at his sides. At last, he reached out- not with accusation, but with yearning. The same way he had when they were children, tugging at Leo’s sleeve so he wouldn’t run too far ahead. “I just… I just missed you,” he admitted, his voice breaking.

Leo’s chest tightened. He stepped into his brother’s reach, taking Sangwon’s hands in his own. They were cold, thinner than he remembered, but real, alive. “I’m sorry,” Leo whispered. “For looking away when you needed me most. For letting them cage you like this. I swear, I will prove your innocence and fix all of this. And I’ll visit you, Sangwon. Not just today. Every chance I can. Believe me when I say that I miss you too.”

For the first time, Sangwon’s guarded expression cracked. His eyes shone, not with fury, but with the ache of hope returning, however fragile. He pulled Leo into a sudden, rough embrace. “Don’t let this be another promise you forget,” he murmured against his shoulder.

Leo held him tight, as if to anchor them both. “I won’t,” he vowed. “Not again, not ever.”

In the silence of the dungeon, with only the torchlight flickering against damp walls, the two brothers stood bound not by chains or crowns, but by the stubborn, unyielding love that had outlasted betrayal.

Chapter Text

The chamber was quiet, bathed in the soft orange glow of late afternoon. Golden light filtered through lattice windows, dust motes drifting lazily in the air. It looked peaceful, almost sacred.

Sihwan moved through it like a shadow. His boots made no sound on the polished floor, his breath measured. He had waited for this moment, studied the patterns of the servants, the times when the guards rotated posts, the precise intervals when Prince Leo liked to drink his evening tea. Every detail had been committed to memory, rehearsed until it was second nature.

From inside his sleeve, he drew a small vial no larger than his thumb. The liquid within caught the sunlight briefly, gleaming like liquid amber. He uncorked it with a soft pop. No tremor disturbed his hands. This was not the first time he had handled death.

He lifted the porcelain cup on Leo’s desk, its delicate rim etched with Caistonian patterns. A faint curl of steam rose from the tea within, fresh from the kitchens. With practiced ease, Sihwan tilted the vial, and a few drops fell into the cup. They swirled through the liquid like threads of smoke, vanishing without a trace. Silent, invisible, absolute.

For a heartbeat, he lingered, watching the poisoned tea as though it were a masterpiece. His expression betrayed nothing, not even satisfaction. Just cool precision.

Then, a sound. A sharp inhale. Sihwan’s eyes flicked toward the far wall.

Behind the heavy brocade tapestry, a flicker of movement. A servant girl, small,most likely no older than fifteen, had been dusting the high shelves when she froze at the sight before her. Wide-eyed, she pressed herself flat against the stone, her knuckles white around the feather duster in her hand. Her heart thundered in her chest.

Sihwan’s gaze narrowed, his body went stiff, a predator scenting prey.

The girl bit down on her lip to keep from gasping, but panic betrayed her. Her heel scraped against the floor as she tried to step back.

Sihwan’s eyes sharpened. And she ran.

The sound of her hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor, small and frantic against the vastness of the palace.

Sihwan straightened slowly, corking the vial and slipping it back into his sleeve. He did not chase her, not yet. A smile ghosted across his lips, chilling in its restraint.

“Foolish little bird,” he murmured under his breath. “Let’s see how far you think you can fly.”

He picked up the poisoned teacup, setting it neatly back where it had been, as though nothing at all had disturbed the stillness of the chamber.

-

The chamber was quiet, lit only by the glow of oil lamps. Leo bent over his desk, eyes red-rimmed from sleepless nights, hands buried in scrolls and ink-stained notes. He barely noticed the door slam open.

“Don’t drink this.”

Leo looked up sharply. Jiahao stood in the doorway, breathless, clutching a tray with a single porcelain cup. Steam rose from the tea, curling like phantom hands.

Leo straightened. “Jiahao- what is this about?”

Jiahao set the tray down with a trembling urgency. His dark eyes locked with Leo’s. “A servant girl saw your guard, Sihwan, tampering with it. She came to me because…” His voice faltered for a heartbeat, before firming. “Because I’m the closest to you.”

The words landed heavy between them. Leo’s chest tightened. “Then we need to-” But before he could finish, Jiahao lifted the cup and brought it to his lips.

“Jiahao!” he exclaimed at the sight before him. Leo lunged forward, but too late.

The boy had drained the cup’s contents in a single swallow, the porcelain clattering faintly as he set it back down. He turned to face Leo, eyes calm despite the tremor in his hand. “Now there’s no doubt,” Jiahao whispered. “That it’s poisoned. With me as evidence… and the servant girl's testimony… Sihwan won’t escape justice. Not this time.”

Leo’s heart plummeted. “You fool,” he breathed, horror cracking through his voice. “Why would you-”

But even as he spoke, understanding flooded him. Jiahao had done what Leo could not: turned suspicion into proof. Proof enough to shatter Sihwan’s seemingly flawless schemes, to bring down the man who had already killed one king and set his sights on another.

Leo caught him as his knees buckled. The cup slipped from the desk and shattered on the floor, scattering shards like fallen stars. Jiahao’s head rested against his chest, his breathing shallow.

“Leo…” His lips barely formed the prince’s name.

Leo’s arms tightened around him. “Don’t speak. Don’t waste your strength.” His voice broke, but he forced steadiness into it. “I’ll fix this. I swear to you, I’ll make this right.”

For the first time in days, fire returned to Leo’s eyes. He laid Jiahao gently upon the cushions, smoothing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. His pulse thundered with grief and rage, but his movements were swift, deliberate.

He rose to his feet, his voice ringing out with command. “Guards! Summon the royal council. Now. And bring me Sihwan, as well as the young servant girl who works in my wing. At once.”

Footsteps thundered in the halls as the guards scrambled to obey. Leo looked down once more at the boy who had just risked everything for him. His jaw clenched, a silent vow burning in his chest.

Sihwan would not win. Not now, and not ever.

-

The council chamber was suffocating in its silence. Oil lamps flickered along the carved pillars, casting shadows that seemed to lean in closer, listening. At the center, Sihwan knelt, his wrists bound in heavy iron, sweat streaking his temple.

He looked anything but defeated. His chin remained high, his smirk defiant.

Leo stood before him, his voice low and sharp as a blade. “You murdered my father.”

Gasps rippled through the chamber. A few councilmen shifted in their seats, unease etching their faces.

Sihwan’s smirk widened, venom spilling into his words. “I did what was necessary. Your father was weak. Blind. He let this kingdom rot from within. And you-” his gaze flicked between Leo and the chained Sangwon at the side, then toward the far corner where Anxin watched with guarded eyes- “you and your brother were being seduced by a foreign pretty face and his servant. I did what no one else had the courage to.”

Murmurs grew louder, outrage mixing with doubt. Leo stepped closer, eyes blazing. “And you tried to poison me. Because I got too close.”

Sihwan let out a harsh laugh. “Poison? Lies. You’ve been listening to frightened children and foreign tongues. I have no motive to poison you, Your Highness.”

His arrogance was palpable, thick as smoke. For a moment, the council hesitated, his bluff threatening to seed doubt. Then-

“My lords!” A small voice cut through the chamber. The young servant girl, the one who had warned Jiahao about the poison in Leo’s tea, stepped forward. Her hands shook, but her chin lifted, determined. “I saw him. I saw the guard, Sihwan, pour poison into the prince’s tea with my own eyes.”

The chamber erupted. Some councilmen rose to their feet in shock, others called for silence. Sihwan’s face paled, then twisted in fury. “A servant’s word against mine? She lies! She’s been coached, manipulated-”

“She speaks the truth,” Kangmin thundered from behind Leo, his hand tight on his sword hilt. “And Jiahao, Prince Sangwon's servant, took the cup himself. He currently lies unconscious, poisoned by Sihwan’s hand.”

The murmurs turned to outrage, this time not at Leo, but at Sihwan. Accusations, whispered suspicions, and half-buried doubts finally found their shape. Leo raised a hand, silencing the chamber. His voice was iron. “The poison links you to me. The servant girl’s witness binds you. And now we see clearly, my father’s death was not of my brother’s doing. It was you. Every chain leads back to your hand.”

The council’s scribe, trembling, began recording the confession-by-circumstance. Sihwan’s smirk crumbled into a snarl. “You’re a fool, Leo. Without my intervention, this kingdom will fall. Mark my words-”

“Enough.” Leo’s words cracked like a whip. “You will face judgment before the full court. You will answer for every crime. And when justice is done, Sangwon’s name will be cleared.”

The guards seized Sihwan, dragging him to his feet. His curses echoed down the hall as he was hauled away, his mask of confidence finally shattered. Leo was frozen in place, but a proud smile crept up. He could finally set Sangwon free.

-

Later, when the chamber was empty and the uproar of the council had dimmed, Leo sat at Jiahao’s bedside.

The boy lay still, his skin pale, damp with fever. The royal physicians had done all they could, administering herbs and tinctures, but the poison was stubborn, clinging like a shadow. Every shallow breath rattled Leo’s heart.

Leo reached out, brushing a damp strand of hair from Jiahao’s forehead. His hand lingered there, trembling slightly, as though afraid that letting go would mean losing him.

“You shouldn’t have done it,” Leo whispered, voice breaking. “You shouldn’t have risked yourself for me.”

But then his throat tightened, and tears burned his eyes. “No… I know why you did. You’ve always been braver than me. Smarter. You saw the truth before I dared to.”

His words fell softer, like confessions torn from a wound. “I never told you… how much I admire you. How much I’ve come to…” He swallowed hard, unable to finish, his heart hammering.

Leo bent closer, pressing his forehead lightly against Jiahao’s hand. “Please… come back to me. Wake up, Jiahao. You’ve fought so hard, you can’t leave me now.”

The silence stretched, broken only by the faint crackle of the brazier. Leo’s shoulders shook. Finally, he forced himself upright, wiping his face with the back of his hand. His voice steadied, but each word was laced with quiet conviction.

“When you wake, I’ll give you a choice. To stay here with me… or to go home with Anxin. I won’t hold you back. But if you choose to stay…” His hand tightened over Jiahao’s, reverent. “…I’ll cherish you. As my beloved. As the one who showed me what courage truly means.”

He leaned down, pressing a trembling kiss to the back of Jiahao’s hand. Jiahao did not stir. His breathing remained shallow, fever still clinging. But Leo stayed there, through the night. A prince, a brother, a man in love, keeping vigil, refusing to let go.