Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There are more enjoyable things to do on a sunny day like this than taking the gifts of a surrendering kingdom, Minho pouted, walking towards the courtyard where the Cheonan Kingdom waited for him.

Much more enjoyable things.

He could sit in the royal gardens with his lovers, for example.

He could recite poetry for Seungminnie, feeding Changbin-ah sweets with his free hand. He could watch Felix and Hyunjin whisper gentle things to each other, and watch Jeongin-ah smack Chan over the head if their eldest didn’t stop thinking about work.

But no, the Cheonan Kingdom just had to arrive today.

He sighed.

Chan patted his back subtly, likely thinking about similar ways the day could have been used.

They entered the courtyard.

The envoy of the Cheonan Kingdom sank down on his knees and loudly greeted Minho, followed by the Cheonan servants that had accompanied him.

Minho waved his hand, motioning for them to stand up. He wanted this to be over as quickly as possible.

“For your grace, our King has decided to thank you with various gifts from Cheonan,” the envoy said. “Sixteen bolts of the best silk, dyed in various colors. Twenty pouches of various herbs that grow mostly in Cheonan, as well as three pouches with seeds if Your Majesty has the possibility to grow them yourself.” He told of more things, always brought forward by servants who presented them to Minho, who was really trying not to look bored. The gifts were nice, sure, but they could have bought it just as well. Minho’s kingdom was much wealthier than the Cheonan Kingdom.

Minho noticed that Chan’s gaze got caught by the five horses that they were gifted. They looked sturdier than the ones they usually had. Minho made a mental note to let Chan choose one of them.

His attention resurfaced when the envoy made a gesture and a young man walked forward.

That in itself wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was the black muzzle the man wore. It hid his entire lower face, nose and mouth both, and Minho saw that it was tight enough to prevent the man from speaking.

He frowned. What kind of man must the muzzled man be to be treated like this?

“This is Jisung,” the envoy said, and Jisung dropped on his knees – loud enough that Minho winced lightly at the rough sound – and kowtowed. “He has been caught in war – not with Your kingdom, he is not a citizen of Your kingdom,” the envoy added hastily, “But he is a skilled fighter. He does not understand any language but his own, but we managed to train him to understand certain gestures. This book contains them. If he sees these gestures, he will do as you want.”

Minho’s frown didn’t lessen. “Why is he muzzled?”

“He tries speaking his own language, with his common dialect,” the envoy sighed, clearly annoyed about that fact. “Always and all the time. It sounds rough and savage. The muzzle prevents him from doing so.”

Now Minho was curious where Jisung came from, what kind of language he spoke.

“Sometimes, it sounds like he tries to put curses over his handlers,” the envoy added. “We cannot be sure, of course, since no one speaks his language. The muzzles prevents that as well. Better safe than sorry.”

Curses?

Minho’s lips twitched.

Curses had a specific rhythm. You knew if you were cursed - and if you didn't, you'd notice later. Clearly the handlers hadn’t been cursed before if they couldn’t be sure if it was a curse.

Chan stepped forward, taking the book from the envoy. “He obeys always?” Chan asked, flipping through the pages. “Or does he act up?”

“He acts up very rarely,” the envoy said. “Just beat him, if that happens, and he will not act up for months.”

Chan furrowed his brows. “If you say so,” he murmured. He looked up, clearly doing one of the gestures in the book. Jisung, sitting on his heels, changed his position into kneeling with one knee on the ground, the way Minho had seen some Cheonan soldiers bow. Another gesture made Jisung bow his head and hold out his wrists as if waiting for a rope to be tied around them. He waited patiently, even when the rope clearly didn’t come, not changing his position. Minho noticed how his arms started shaking ever so slightly, but he still didn’t put them down. A last gesture made him sink onto his heels again, hands on his thighs.

He did seem obedient.

Chan made the servants bring the gifts, Jisung included, into the rooms they had intended for them. During that time, Minho spoke a bit with the envoy, assuring the man that peace would now exist between the two kingdoms. “Unless your kingdom decides to invade again,” Minho added, laughing sharply, too sharp to make the envoy think it was a joke.

The envoy laughed as well, clearly nervous and pale. “We know better, now, Your Majesty,” he said.

Minho smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. “I am sure,” he said.

And with that, he sent the envoy and the servants, empty carriages and all, back on their way to Cheonan.

They would not be allowed to sleep in his castle. Not after they killed so many of Minho’s civilians without any provocation.

Luckily, the envoy seemed to get that, as he turned around silently, not arguing and knocking on the value of treating guests politely.

Good for him.

Minho laid his head in Felix’s lap, eyes closed as he enjoyed the warm sun shining into his face.

“You managed to make them leave pretty quickly,” Felix chuckled, pushing a few stray hairs from Minho’s face. “I’m impressed.”

“I think that was the quickest you ever made an envoy leave,” Changbin chimed in, using Minho’s legs as a pillow.

“Well, I don’t like them,” Minho murmured. “And they know it. I don’t need to smile while not meaning it, not with the Cheonan, not right after we defeated them.”

“True,” Seungmin agreed. “They didn’t expect anything else.”

“What gifts did they bring, anyways?” Jeongin asked. Last time Minho had opened his eyes, he had laid on Seungmin, likely pressing all air from the older man’s lungs. Minho’s suspicion that this was still happening got proven when Jeongin wiggled around and Minho heard Seungmin groan and slap Jeongin. He didn’t hear him shake off the youngest, though, so an amused smile made its way on Minho’s face.

“A lot of good silk,” Chan began, when Minho forgot to answer. “Very good horses, they are better in winter than ours, I think. Thinking of that, Minho-yah, can I breed them with our horses? I would like to make them last more than one generation.”

“Sure,” Minho said. “I wanted to give you one of them anyways.”

“That’s sweet of you,” Chan smiled.

“Anything else?” Hyunjin asked.

“Wine,” Minho said. “Herbs, and seeds for the herbs.”

“And that man. Jisung, wasn’t it?” Chan added.

“They gifted a … a single slave?” Felix sounded confused. “I would understand a few more of them, maybe trained for something specific, but … one?”

Minho shrugged, as much as that was possible. “He’s a skilled fighter, they said.”

Chan hummed in confirmation. “He’s not from Cheonan, and not from here, either. Doesn’t speak either language, just his first one. To use him, they made him learn gestures and what was expected of these gestures. They gave a book with those.”

“Like a dog,” Hyunjin mumbled. “Kind of sad.”

Minho shrugged again. “Not for me. He got captured in war, that’s just what can happen with that. He could have tried learning Cheoni, maybe they wouldn’t have trained him like that then.”

“I don’t know,” Seungmin hummed. “Cheoni is a pretty difficult language, with a really complicated grammar. I am still learning, and I already devoted four years to it. I learned Sigan much, much faster.”

“Could be.”

“Where is he now?” Felix asked, petting Minho’s hair.

“With the rest of the gifts,” Chan answered. “I locked the door.”

“I wanna meet him,” Seungmin demanded. “I wanna learn his language. Maybe I’ll stop torturing myself with Cheoni then.”

Minho almost purred when Felix scratched his scalp lightly. “Do that. He’s muzzled, though, and maybe he’ll try cursing you when you take it off. That's what they envoy said, at least. Mhm, do that again, love.”

Felix laughed softly, repeating the scratch.

“I mean, you can figure out if someone tries to curse you pretty quickly,” Seungmin said. “Even if it's not in your language.”

“I know. Just warning youuu ohh yes … your hands are divine, Lixie,” Minho said, melting into the younger’s lap.

Felix laughed louder.

So did Changbin, his snickering just as distinctive as the rhythm of curses was, but much more enjoyable.

Minho smiled into the summer sun. This was what a good day looked like. Being in the midst of his lovers, without any further meetings, laughter spilling around him.

oOo

Jisung had forgotten what it felt like to not be afraid.

He wasn’t terrified, like in the beginning, not really. The terror had gone away, replaced by his stomach in a constant knot. So constant, in fact, that Jisung sometimes forgot it was there.

Even now, with his masters gifting him to another king, Jisung only felt that knot in his stomach.

To change one master for the other, it wasn’t really as big a deal as most thought. Abuse would come, would come always. What use was it to fear it, to be frozen in terror? None, if you didn’t want to get punished for exactly that.

Jisung had listened in when his masters had talked about the king they wanted to gift him to. The King of Kangmin was young, only one or two years older than Jisung. He had become king when his parents died in war, around seven years ago. Barely an adult, he had fought off Jisung’s birth kingdom’s army until they proposed peace.

The King, Minho, had agreed, as long as those that killed his parents got publicly executed.

Jisung had seen them, those that killed the late king and queen of Kangmin, had seen their heads on spears that were hung over the capital’s gates. He had shuddered and moved on with his life.

Those heads weren’t the first he had seen there, nor the last.

Jisung came from Hyeon, a nation known for warring with its neighbors. Kangmin was the first kingdom in decades that had forced them to retreat, that had taken parts of Hyeon for themselves and demanded things of Hyeon’s king instead of begging for it.

He had admired Kangmin’s young king back then, Jisung remembered. While Hyeon was a militant nation, not everyone agreed with the constant war. Least of all the farmers who became collateral damage along the way.
Jisung had been born on a farm.

He smiled bitterly to himself, sighing in the darkness of the room he was locked into.

But being born on a farm hadn’t saved him from being forced into military service, nor had it saved him from getting captured.

And trained.

Jisung’s jaw tensed at the thought of the Cheonan people beating obedience into him.

Hyeon’s beatings were effective, if painful. They still needed you at the front.

Cheonan’s beatings were plain cruel.

He had learned to obey, knowing that resisting was just stupid and didn’t offer him anything good.

Jisung felt at the muzzle they had put onto him.

The muzzle had become part of him the same way the knot in his stomach had.

Always there, not supposed to be a constant but Jisung being unable to pull it off.

Silencing him.

Muting him.

Jisung hadn’t spoken, hadn’t prayed in months, only getting the muzzle taken off for drinking and eating, but the moment his lips formed around the words of his youth, the muzzle slid over his face again.

Jisung’s fingers curled, nails scratching over the leather of the muzzle. He had last drank this morning. He felt dizzy, deprived of water in the summer heat, sweat dripping from his brows in the overheated room he was put into.

He felt over the mechanism that closed the muzzle for yet another time today. It needed some sort of key, he knew, without that locked into place with no chance of it getting off.

Jisung pressed his lips together.

Oh, how he wished he had deserted all those years ago. How he wished he could have evaded capturing, could have died with his comrades instead of being chosen for his skill with all sorts of weapons.

But life didn’t allow for that.

Dimly, Jisung asked himself if he would die here, from overheating and lack of water.

He leaned against a chest, tired.

Maybe.

Chapter Text

Jisung blinked awake to the muzzle sliding off his face and water pooling against his lips. He pulled the dry skin open, allowing the water to enter his mouth.

Drinking was exhausting, painful in his throat. He still was thankful for every sip he got.

He opened his eyes, blinking against the dim light. There was a man standing in front of him, speaking words Jisung didn’t understand. Probably Kang.

Jisung furrowed his brows, trying to make the man understand that he did not understand.

The man sighed, pulling the book of Jisung’s nightmares from a shelf. His eyes flicked over the pages until he stopped and nodded to himself. The gesture he then did was one Jisung remembered as a question if he was well enough to train or if he would pass out.

They rarely asked. The gesture was almost foreign to Jisung now.

He shook his head.

The man hummed. The nest gesture was a demand for Jisung to stand up.

Jisung leaned heavily on the chest he had slept against as he dragged himself upwards. Subconsciously, he licked his lips and moved his jaw. He did not get a lot of time for his jaw to be able to flex and it felt rather stiff most of the time.

The man noticed. He took the muzzle from where he put it, taking in the way it was made. The air holes, the thickness of the leather that would muffle any sound Jisung managed to get out. The unforgiving shape of it. He put it onto Jisung’s face, without connecting the straps behind his head. Jisung blinked slowly at him. What was he trying to do?

The muzzle left his face again, and the man resumed looking at it. Then he stepped closer, using his fingers to pry open Jisung’s mouth, feeling the corners.

Jisung suppressed the flinch at the harsh treatment of the sensitive, likely sore skin.

The man said something to himself, snapping his fingers as if searching for a word. Not finding it, he sighed. He used the gesture that meant stay, and Jisung did his best not to move.

The man turned his back to Jisung.

The door was open, the light from the corridor falling into the storage room they were in.

Jisung stared at it, the emptiness of the corridor, no one but him and the strange man anywhere near this place.

He could overpower the man, Jisung was sure of it. Hyeon had taught its soldiers well, and war taught them better. The man was slim, and while that said nothing about someone’s deadliness, it said something about their weight. Jisung could throw the man into the wall, kick his head. He would likely suffer from at least a severe concussion, unable to follow Jisung. If Jisung made sure he was knocked out, he couldn’t even shout for help, couldn’t alarm the guards.

Jisung could run through the corridor, the palace. He could hide somewhere where they wouldn’t search, could find his way over the gates. He could flee.

Jisung’s fingers twitched.

But he didn’t know how important the man was, Jisung sighed to himself. If the man was just some servant who got ordered to make sure the gifts didn’t get damaged – or died, in his case – people would search for Jisung, but if he managed to flee, he’d be able to keep his head low. A random servant’s life wasn’t important enough for revenge, and Kangmin did not know his face yet.

But if he was higher up in status, Jisung would have to evade head hunters his entire life, no matter in which country he was. Maybe even if he managed to flee to the Isle Sigan.

And if the man was close to the king, Jisung likely wouldn’t even make it past the palace, the whole place would be turned upside down.

Jisung took in the man’s clothing. Maybe that could give him clues about the man’s importance?

He was dressed plainly, no embroidery and no fancy cuts. But the fabric was good, sturdy without looking like it belonged on a man who worked in the rice fields. It wasn’t threadbare, in no place, well cared for.

But then again, Kangmin was richer than both Hyeon and Cheonan, and could likely afford uniforms for every servant. If even the lowest people were clothed well, it was a status symbol, a symbol of riches.

The man’s hair was pulled up in a bun, like it was common for men. He did not wear any hats like officials in Kangmin did, but also didn’t use a guan.

That was uncommon for richer men. Few that could afford the hair crowns that enclosed their buns decided to use fabric like this man.

Some did, for sentimental purpose.

The man turned around again, something white smeared on his right thumb. He grabbed Jisung’s chin and pulled his mouth open, pulling at the skin of the sore corners of his mouth. Jisung hissed. The man smeared the white something onto the corners, making them burn. Jisung swallowed the whimper that wanted to escape his throat.

The man cleaned the rest of the oily white from his thumb on Jisung’s cheek.

Was it a salve? It felt like one. Tasted like one, too, Jisung judged after touching the white with his tongue.

The man smacked his cheek lightly, shaking his head.

Jisung closed his mouth again and lowered his head. Understood.

Was the man a healer? Jisung’s eyes followed him carefully as he walked around the room. He didn’t seem to be afraid of Jisung trying something, even though his eyes flicked to him from time to time.

That meant he either felt protected by his status, or he didn’t know what Jisung was capable of.

Jisung couldn’t tell which one it was.

With Jisung not concentrating on the door, he was taken by surprise when a woman popped up in his view. She bowed to the man – he was of higher status than her, then, at least, which was not good for Jisung’s plan for fleeing – and said something in Kang.

The man replied with the ease and lack of urgency that Jisung connected to nobles – fuck – and seemingly gave her some orders.

Jisung watched them, cursing his inability of understanding them.

The woman left the room, leaving them alone again.

Jisung’s lips pressed together, tense.

The man was still staring the muzzle down, brows furrowed. He used his fingers to feel the inside of it, for whatever reason. What he found seemed to displease him, judging by the slight crease on his forehead.

Should Jisung apologize? Fall onto his knees and bow?

His former masters had liked that, had gotten distracted from their anger by it.

Was this man similar to them in that aspect?

“Fucking Cheonan people, not even telling us where he is from,” the man suddenly swore in Cheoni, as if the people who brought Jisung here could still hear him.

Jisung blinked. He … spoke Cheoni?

Why?

He was Kangmin, that was clear in his bone structure and the fact that he lived in Kangmin.

Was he a … scholar?

But why would a scholar be anywhere close to Jisung? That was unsafe. For the scholar, not Jisung.

“Hyeon,” Jisung said, voice raspy and unused.

The man’s head whipped around. “You speak Cheoni?”

“No,” Jisung shook his head. “Just … understand. Little bit. Speaking bad.”

“Your former masters were under the impression you neither spoke nor understood their language,” the man said, clearly demanding an explanation from Jisung.

Jisung bowed in apology. “I prayed in Hyeon. They did not like. They put a muzzle on me. Cannot speak with muzzle.”

“I see. And why did they think you did not understand them?”

Jisung swallowed. “Did not understand in beginning. They trained me with gestures. After … did not speak with me, spoke about me. I did not do anything without order. Got ordered with gestures.”

The man hummed. “That does make sense. You are Hyeon?”

Jisung bowed in confirmation. “Hyeon and Cheonan was at war. I got captured. Was skilled enough to have worth as slave.”

The man looked him up and down. “You are aware that your nationality will not make you any friends here?”

Yes. Hyeon and Cheonan were bad enough with each other, and they only warred. Hyeon and Kangmin … Hyeon killed their royal couple, forcing the current king to ascend to the throne too young. That was nothing people could ignore. Jisung inclined his head.

The man huffed. “You should have stayed silent,” he sighed. “I will not hide your birth nation from my king.”

“I know,” Jisung said.

“Then why did you answer?”

“You wanted to know.”

The man arched his brows. “Because … I wanted to know?”

“Mn.”

The man blinked once, twice, thinking. “Jisung, what do you think would have happened if you hadn’t told me?”

Jisung licked his lips. “Anger.”

“And if I hadn’t found out you kept this from me?”

Jisung shrugged. “I belong to the king. Not allowed to die without him wanting me to. I am young. Would have a long life. You would have found out. Eventually.”

“Hm.” The man narrowed his eyes. “And what does anger entail?”

Jisung blinked. “Sorry, I am dumb. What means entail?”

“Ah. Apologies, I should have used more common words. What would my anger mean for you?”

“I … do not know yet? Beatings?” Jisung offered. Why was that important?

The man sighed. “Alright. Jisung, most people in your situation would keep anything they could to themselves, so have an advantage. Why not you?”

Jisung blinked, staring on the ground. “My brain got trained,” he murmured. “No secrets allowed, or punishment. And … you were nice.”

Jisung still kept secrets, even if they were about things nobody ever asked, finding it unimportant. But his masters shouldn’t know about that. Shouldn’t know that Jisung wasn’t as broken as they thought.

“Nice,” the man said, drily, clearly not having intended to be nice.

“The salve, and taking the muzzle off,” Jisung explained.

“That is nicety for you?”

The bafflement in the man’s voice made Jisung bark a laugh. He smiled regretfully. “Not many people are nice to slave. Why care? Care does not make slave work harder. Fear does.”

The man was silent for some time, taking Jisung’s words in, watching him. Then he sighed, turning around again. “I will report to my king. Be prepared to be questioned.”

“Understand.”

He did not put the muzzle onto Jisung before he closed the door.

Jisung swallowed as darkness enclosed him again.

He was free from the muzzle, and without a master.

He could speak Hyeon.

“I am Han Jisung,” he whispered into the silent air. “My patron deity is Mura, goddess of the wilderness. I am an only child. I grew up in northern Hyeon on a farm. My parents died when I was seventeen. I am Han Jisung. My patron deity is Mura, goddess of the wilderness. I am an only child. I grew up in northern Hyeon on a farm. My parents died when I was seventeen. I am Han Jisung. My patron deity …” His mouth formed the words like a mantra, a way to remember who he had been before he was forced to be a soldier, before he became a slave. Only when his body had gradually relaxed, he stopped the mantra.

Instead, he knelt down. “Mura,” he said. “Goddess of the wilderness, patron of the lost. Please let the king be a neutral master. Please let my life here become less of a nightmare than it was in Cheonan. Please let me learn Kang quickly.”

Mura did not answer, did not send any signs.

That was okay.

Mura never did, to no one, not even her nuns. The only way to know she listened was if your prayer was fulfilled.

Sometimes, she had helped Jisung. But she did not contain mercy. When Jisung prayed to stay alive as he got captured, she had allowed him to become a slave. He was alive.

But for what price?

And still, Jisung was thankful to her. He hadn’t been specific enough, he knew. He should have known better, Mura was known for this.

She fulfilled his prayer in a way that was possible to her.

Jisung sat down in a way that was more comfortable and started massaging his jaw. Maybe he would get muzzled again, who knew? But if he was, he could use this time to make his jaw feel less … stiff.

Time passed, and he tried to find a way to sleep somewhat comfortably on the ground. He did not dare use the bolts of fabric as a pillow. It was highly unlikely he would get food today still.

Hopefully tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Felix stared down the servant who told him that the slave hadn’t eaten for the entire time he had been here.

That he had gotten water Felix only knew because Seungmin had been there, investigating, and had found the slave passed out against one of the chests.

“And why exactly didn’t you give him food?” Felix asked, arms crossing in front of his chest, brow arched.

The servant visibly got more nervous. “One of my girls noticed that he was without any restrains when she searched for Lord Kim, Lord Lee,” he stuttered. “And he is a slave used for his skill with weapons and fighting. It seemed to be too dangerous.”

Felix exhaled. “While I understand that fear, you could have asked one of the guards to restrain the slave for the time you needed to bring him food. Which is essential for surviving, and we really don’t want Cheonan’s gifts die before their envoy even entered Cheonan again. Do you understand?”

The servant bowed. “Yes. My apologies, Lord Lee. We will do better in the future.”

“See that you do. For now, just give me some food you already prepared. I already decided to visit him, I can make sure he doesn’t starve us away. Some water, too. No alcohol.”

“Understood.” The servant shuffled away, coming back a few minutes later, a tablet with some essential food on it and a jar of water as well.

Felix balanced it easily. He walked towards the storage rooms and put the tablet on the ground to open the door.

When the door opened, he stood face to face with the slave.

He seemed to be rather surprised, if his face was anything to judge by. Then, catching himself, he bowed and stumbled backwards, allowing Felix to enter the room.

Felix clicked his tongue. Not one window, not even candles. It was good for letting the room remain cool and make sure there was no fire hazard, but that was no way for a human to live, not even a human that belonged to others. For now, he left the door open, allowing some light to enter the room.

Felix picked up the tablet again, and put it down onto one of the chests. Then he grabbed the slave’s wrist and pulled him towards the food, motioning for him to eat it.

The man visibly hesitated. He said something in Cheoni that Felix didn’t understand, being more complicated than the little he heard learned by listening to Seungmin when the other furthered his understanding of Cheoni.

But while Felix didn’t know much Cheoni, he had learned Hyeon as a kid, since one of the boys he played with had a Hyeon mother. The baker’s son.

“Sit,” Felix said, trying to remember what he still knew.

The slave froze, eyes wide. Then he asked, slowly and pronouncing clearly, “You speak Hyeon?”

Felix tilted his head to both sides. Speaking Hyeon overestimated his knowledge of the language a little, he thought. And he hadn’t spoken it for quite some time, making the bit he did know rusty. “A bit. Sit.”

The slave sat.

“Good. Eat.”

Felix watched as the man started to eat, first slowly, gaze flicking to Felix every few seconds, but as Felix just watched, not doing anything, he started eating quicker. When the food had all vanished in his stomach, Felix nodded, satisfied.

Looking around in the dimly lit room, he searched for the muzzle. Seungmin had asked him to look over it, if it was a health hazard. It had left the corners of the man’s mouth sore and slightly bloody, something they both had suspected. One of the reasons Seungmin had the salve already with him.

He found the muzzle put carefully on a shelf. Going towards the door, to get more light, Felix started inspecting the leather. What he found made him grimace. It clearly didn’t get cleaned often, and the breathing holes were too small, it made the breath of the slave get caught in the leather.

Breath really wasn't supposed to be confined to the skin for a long time, because it risked the skin getting sore.

Yeah, they would not use the muzzle again. That muzzle, at least.

That reminded him.

“What did you say to your masters?” Felix asked the slave.

The slave blinked at him. “I don’t understand.” The way he spoke was slightly different to Felix’s playmate and his mother back then, a bit more slurred. A dialect maybe?

“They put this on you because they thought you tried cursing them. What did you say?” Okay, maybe Felix had remembered more than he thought, now that he spoke it again. Felix hummed internally. Maybe he should learn it a bit more. It was a pretty language, no matter the culture of the people that spoke it.

“Oh.” The man looked surprised. “I did not curse them. I said a mantra.”

Mantra.

“What do you mean, mantra?” Felix didn’t know that word.

“Uhm … words that I repeat? It helps with … with calming me.”

“Which words?”

The slave licked his lips. “Who I am. Where I was born. Who I pray to.”

He was clearly trying to evade reciting the mantra. Felix let him. “Who do you pray to?”

“Mura. Goddess of the wilderness.”

Felix cocked his head to the side. “Goddess of the lost?” His former playmate’s mother had prayed to the goddess of the lost.

From what Felix had gathered after becoming an adult, she had not willingly entered the relationship with her child’s father, and considered herself lost from where she belonged.

The slave lowered his head. “Yes.”

“I see.” Felix gave him the jug of water. “Drink.”

The slave took it, hands shaking. Likely exhaustion, not fear. He didn’t seem to be afraid at all, voice not shaky, eyes not flicking around in the room.

But he seemed wary. He watched Felix cautiously, in a way Felix had almost forgotten. No one ever looked at him like that in the castle.

“Your name is Jisung, right? Or is that the name your former masters gave you?”

The slave took the jug from his mouth, wiping away the drops that fell from his lips on his chin. “Yes. Jisung. They did not rename me.” A pause. “Will you?”

“No,” Felix shook his head. “We don’t do that.”

The slave, Jisung, nodded, taking to drinking again.

“What did they use you for?” Felix asked, leaning against the wall and watching Jisung intensely. “They said you fight well. Is that what you did for them, or other things?”

Jisung licked his lips, letting the jug rest on his thighs. “I killed people for them,” he murmured. “I am very quiet. Sneaky.”

Felix had no idea what sneaky meant, but he supposed it was another word for quiet. “What people?”

Jisung pressed his lip together, watching the open entrance to the storage room. “I don’t know. Rich people. Powerful people.” He rubbed his shoulder. “People they wanted gone. They gave me names, but I don’t know which people do what in Cheonan. I – I did not care.” His face tightened.

Felix let it drop. For now.

“Will I do that again? Here?” Jisung stopped watching the little of the corridor he could see, gaze dropping into the jug. He clearly did not want to.

Felix shrugged. “I do not know. My king has not decided.”

Jisung’s jaw flexed, but he nodded.

Felix sighed, taking the tablet again.

A hand on his arm stopped him from leaving. Felix’s expression went stern as he looked at Jisung, who had grabbed his arm. “Do not touch me.”

Jisung let go of him as if he had burned himself. “Sorry, sorry. I just – the man that questioned me before you. And you. Who are you? Are you important? Are you servants?”

Felix was quiet for a moment, debating if he should answer. “You may address me as Lord Lee,” he then said, hiding what work he did. It wasn’t important for the slave to know that he was the Head Healer, wasn’t important for him to know just how close Felix was to his king. “And him as Lord Kim.”

“Ah.” Jisung nodded, swallowing. “Thank you. Uhm, sorry – what is a Lord?”

Right. Felix had said that in Kang. “A noble.”

Jisung nodded again, chewing on his cheeks. “Right. I will do that. Lord Lee.” His pronunciation wasn’t bad for speaking Kang the first time. “Will you … will you muzzle me again?” He nodded to the muzzle in Felix other hand, the one that wasn’t holding the empty tablet. “Or … not?”

Felix exhaled, taking a good look at Jisung. “Maybe.” That really wasn’t his call. His only call was looking if the muzzle was good to be used further.

It was not.

Jisung’s gaze dropped into the jug again. “I see. Thank you for answering.”

Felix nodded, acknowledging it. He left the room, intending on telling Seungmin that the muzzle was trash, and that if Minho wanted the slave muzzled further, he’d have to invest for another one.

Maybe metal. More cage-like in style, that at least had sufficient breathing possibility.

oOo

The first person to enter the storage room had been intimidating, Jisung thought to himself. More sufficient than Jisung in the language they used to communicate, clear in his words, a stern tone of voice. He had also been gentle while efficient. Jisung wouldn’t mind him coming back.

The second person, Lord Lee, was scary. While he hadn’t even touched Jisung, and had brought him food, he had been very obvious in the fact that he was interrogating Jisung.

And if he didn’t find Jisung’s answers good enough … Jisung would probably pay the price.

He had been stern, creating distance between Jisung and himself that the other – Lord Kim, wasn’t it – hadn’t.

Jisung licked his lips. He really hoped that if one of the two would come back, it would be Lord Kim. Even if their communication wasn’t as smooth as Lord Lee’s Hyeon was.

Jisung wondered where he learned it from. He had a southern accent, and stumbled over some words, but he spoke it well enough.

Maybe he had lived some time in southern Hyeon? It was the part of Hyeon that bordered on Kangmin, and it wasn’t uncommon – hadn’t been, fifteen odd years ago – to live close to the border, able to switch between the countries depending on what kind of food you wanted to buy for lunch.

Jisung would likely never find out.

“Wake up.”

Jisung blinked awake, groggy and confused at hearing words in the language of his youth.

“Stand up. Eat this.” Lord Lee threw him an … apple? Jisung bit into it, the juices spraying. He slowly stood up, careful not to drop. He was still exhausted, had only had one meal in the last two days.

He was hungry, more than the apple could fill.

A quick look at Lord Lee told him that this time, he wasn’t alone. Two people dressed a bit similarly to the guards in Cheonan stood next to him, arms crossed and death stares burning into Jisung.

Alright.

They did not like him, so much was clear.

Lord Lee waited patiently until he had finished the apple, which made Jisung rush because this was creepy. Then he nodded at the guards – probably guards – most likely guards, they restrained Jisung right now.

… Why? Had Jisung done something wrong?

“For safety. Ours,” Lord Lee said in Hyeon. “Follow me.”

It was a choice between stumbling after him or getting dragged.

Jisung stumbled after him. They walked through the corridor, making Jisung squint at the bright sunlight when the corridor ended. They walked into something that seemed like training fields. The guards let go of him, retreating a few steps, but still fully concentrating on Jisung. He couldn’t escape if he tried.

“Strip.”

Jisung blinked, once, twice. “What?”

“Strip.” Lord Lee made an impatient motion with his hands. “Pants and shirt.”

Slowly, Jisung stepped out of his pants and shirt, which left him in only his underpants.

This was uncomfortable.

“Put out your arms and legs like this.” Lord Lee put his arms up to the side and widened his stance.

Jisung did as he was told, stomping down on the discomfort that tried to bite through his belly.

Lord Lee hummed, stepping closer. He waved a maid towards them and started rushing out sentence after sentence in Kang, the maid writing it down just as quickly.

What were they talking about?

He flinched when Lord Lee stepped even closer, touching somewhere on his bare back. Immediately, the two guards laid their hands on their swords, threatening him without words. Jisung pressed his lips together and suppressed the shiver when Lord Lee, undeterred, touched more and more places on his body.

Only after a few minutes, Jisung realized they were catalogizing his scars.

Was this some kind of health exam?

Why outside? To not bother other potential patients?

Lord Lee pushed his hair to the side, exposing his neck. Jisung’s fingers flexed, then he made a fist with them, closing his eyes and breathing through the sudden spark of anxiety that made him want to puke. Lord Lee’s continuous stream of words stuttered to a hold. “What?” he said in Hyeon. “Why are you tense?”

Jisung licked his lips, willing himself out of his want to step away from Lord Lee. “A bad experience with my neck.”

A collar.

Too tight.

Jisung had felt like suffocating the entire time, never having had so many panic attacks. Even now, years later, he felt like he couldn’t breathe when something touched his neck without his permission.

“What kind?”

Jisung’s jaw shook. He knew that the muscles on his back likely danced with the way he tensed and untensed the entire time. “Suffocation.”

“Easier words.”

“Unable to breath.”

“I see.” Lord Lee withdrew his hand from Jisung’s neck. “The muzzle made it worse?”

Yes.

A lot.

“Sorry,” Jisung said, nonetheless.

“Don’t be. It’s understandable.” Lord Lee held up Jisung’s hair, but did not touch his neck anymore, just looking at it. He let the hair drop down again and said something to the maid in Kang, stepping away from Jisung. “You can dress again.”

Jisung rushed to follow that command. Then, swallowing, he asked, “What was this for?”

Lord Lee was silent for a moment. “I needed to know some things for healing and such. And … a test.”

A test?

“If you would run.”

Jisung huffed, twisting his shirt between his fingers as he looked on the grassy ground. “I couldn’t have tried. The guards …”

One of the corners of Lord Lee’s mouth twitched up in dry amusement. “You can take them. Do not lie.”

The two guards were broad, well-muscled.

That slowed them down.

Jisung could attack one, take him down with a well-timed kick to the head, and use him as a shield for the other guard. The other guard would likely try to use his sword, then, which Jisung could evade with a few quick steps, and then he’d shatter the guard’s knee caps.

He had done it often enough.

He could do it again.

The only wildcard was Lord Lee, because there was something … off, about him. Something that Jisung couldn’t analyze. Something that made him twitchy, paranoid.

“Can I take you?” Jisung asked.

A surprised expression overtook Lord Lee’s face. “I am slim, barely any wider in my body than you, and you have not eaten enough, not like I have.”

“And yet, I can take two people double as big as I am.”

Lord Lee’s face smoothed, a small, impressed smile appearing. “You are smart, Jisung. Most don’t realize how deadly I am.”

Jisung took the compliment with a slight bow of his head.

Lord Lee stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You cannot take me. Better assassins than you have tried, and failed.”

Jisung licked his lips, bowing his head deeper. He doubted better assassins than him had tried.

He doubted there were many assassins better than him. And they were wasted trying to kill a noble that wasn't even a royal. But Lord Lee didn't know that. And Jisung didn't mind him not knowing that.

But whatever Lord Lee wanted to say in addition got pulled away when he stepped to the side, letting the maid push her knife into the air and cutting into Jisung’s lower arm.

Jisung hissed, jumping back. Assassin?

The maid yelled something in Kang, knocking the two guards out with practiced ease, and getting closer and closer to Lord Lee.

Lord Lee moved graciously, Jisung noticed. His eyes were concentrated on her, mouth thin. He said something in Kang, not yelling at all.

Jisung considered stepping in. But they moved away, and Jisung – Jisung was scared of Lord Lee.

He wouldn’t mind him getting hurt a lot.

The maid couldn’t win.

… Right?

Jisung clutched his bleeding arm, the blood pooling in his other hand, through his fingers. A quick look to the unconscious guards told him they wouldn’t wake up anytime soon.

Another look to Lord Lee and the maid-assassin told him they moved back to Jisung.

Jisung’s teeth painfully chewed down on his cheeks.

What should he do?

In the end, Jisung exhaled in defeat. He took the blood in his hand and threw it into the maids face, ignoring how half of it dirtied Lord Lee’s still pristine clothing. The maid spluttered, surprised, and then disgusted.

But by the time she had regained her attention, Jisung had her by her throat, pulling her up from the ground with his good arm until her toes barely touched the ground. Most people underestimated his strength, and Jisung didn't mind that they did. But he was very strong, in truth. Stronger than most soldiers, who trained for money.

Jisung trained for survival. Always had.

She choked. The sound made Jisung close his eyes for a moment, breathing. Then he opened them again and threw her on the ground, stepping on her throat with his foot. She tried pushing him off, but stopped when he did not move and only furthered his pressure on her airway.

Lord Lee slowly walked closer. “Impressive,” he said. “Creative.” He meant the blood.

Jisung shrugged with one shoulder, trying to not use the one with his wounded arm.

“Don't kill her,” Lord Lee said, then took his scarf and bound it tightly over the cut, hindering the blood flow.

Jisung stared at him. That scarf likely was more expensive than Jisung if he was to be sold on the market.

Lord Lee did not meet his gaze. Instead, he squatted down next to the two guards, checking their pulse and breath. It seemed to satisfy him, as he stood up and yelled one word in Kang.

Jisung guessed it was someone come since immediately someone came to follow Lord Lee’s orders.

But … why hadn’t they come when the maid-assassin had yelled?

His confusion must have shown on his face, because he heard Lord Lee chuckle. “They know better than to interfere with me fighting,” he said. “They only get hurt themselves.”

His southern accent was strong, now. Jisung tried ignoring it, ignore how it tugged on his belly with memories of forests and big cities.

“I see,” Jisung said. “Should I …” He gestured to the maid-assassin, who seemingly had passed out by now. She did take some blows.

Lord Lee shook his head, turning to the servant that had arrived, speaking quick Kang.

Jisung looked to the open gate that would allow him to flee, find somewhere to hide until the night would come.

A possibility of freedom.

Kangmin’s people had taken off the muzzle and hadn’t tied him up, had not collared him. They had threatened him, sure, and Jisung could not quite figure them out, but …

They did not seem cruel.

If they found Jisung, he’d take a beating, sure, maybe more.

But he would still be alive, unlikely to be crippled.

And they did not look at him, right now. There were only two people that could stop him, here, right now.

One of them was unlikely to even be half as quick as Jisung was.

The other was quick, and could fight, but was not driven by adrenaline and desperation. Not like Jisung was.

Jisung made his decision.

He turned around and ran.

Chapter Text

Felix swore.

Of course the assassin had only pretended to be passed out. The moment Jisung had taken his foot from her throat, she had jumped up and tried attacking Felix again.

She had not managed, of course, dizzy and having taken some hits already, but she had hindered Felix from hunting Jisung down again.

Felix swore brightly.

If he just hadn’t tied his scarf around the man’s cut, then they could follow the blood drops at least.

“Lord Lee,” the servant said. “Should I alarm the palace?”

“Do that,” Felix sighed, beating himself down. He had anticipated the slave running, had counted on it, actually. He had wanted to figure him out, and knowing just how broken a mind was belonged to that.

What he hadn’t anticipated though, was the assassin. The fight offered the slave an actual chance at running.

Fuck.

Felix rubbed his temples.

He watched as the two guards got taken to the healing quarters, and the assassin to the dungeon, to figure out what she wanted. Around him, the bell they used for danger inside the palace rung loudly.

He wasn’t surprised when Chan quickly found his way to Felix’s side. “He actually managed to run?” Chan asked, brows raised. “How?”

“Assassin,” Felix told him with a deep sigh. “I was distracted, thought I had it under control.”

Chan chewed on his lips. “Well. He does not speak Kang, so there will be no one to help him or even understand him. He will be found by sundown.”

Felix didn’t doubt it. “I should have anticipated the assassin. It’s not the first time I got targeted. I should have learned from it.”

“Felix, always thinking you're going to be attacked will make you paranoid at most, and the assassins will just get better and work with that. Things like this happen.”

Felix leaned against his lover. “I know that, logically. But I still feel like I should have known, should have planned for it.”

“You can’t plan people, love,” Chan said gently. “Come on, let’s get inside. You’ll take a bath, and don’t think I haven’t seen that cut on your shoulder. Let Minnie treat you, meanwhile you can tell Jinnie everything he needs to know.”

oOo

Jisung leaned against a wall, breathing heavily. The sun had gone down a couple minutes ago, and he was waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the night. When that happened, he could overpower one of the guards and find his way out of the palace, wearing the guards uniform.

Swallowing hurt. Jisung leaned his head back, eyes up to the sky. He was in bad condition, he knew that. The arm had started bleeding again, he was still hungry, and probably hadn’t had enough water today, and the night was cooler than he anticipated.

His threadbare clothes did jack shit to protect him from that.

And still, this was the closest to freedom since he’d been forced to enter the Hyeon army. Right now, there was neither officer nor master looming over him, no whip in sight to remind him painfully that disobedience was not a good idea.

Only people hunting for him.

Jisung’s heart was beating quick, but he was used to that. To the thrill. He breathed as calmly as possible, taking his head from the wall to look around. See if anyone was there.

He had no weapon, and that was unusual, but it had happened before.

Jisung was lethal. He did not need weapons to kill.

It was one of the reasons Cheonan got rid of him. They started to get scared of him. Started wondering if he would suddenly snap their necks, break their backs in half. They had made him this, had made him an assassin.

They had not realized that meant that they had an assassin that wasn’t loyal to them.

And when they finally did realize, they used the mandatory gifts to the country that won the war as a way to get rid of him.

Maybe hope he’d take out his new master if that one finally broke him.

Jisung inhaled a shuddering breath and tightened the scarf around his arm.

He had no intention of ever killing again. He wanted to be free, a farmer, like he was supposed to be. He intended to live with hard work and towering taxes and no masters telling him a name and giving him a dagger.

Internally, if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t sure if he would manage. Killing … had felt normal, the last few months. He hadn’t felt nausea, had almost forgotten to carve the names into his wall.

Jisung feared that he was slowly becoming what both Hyeon and Cheonan had tried making him.

A monster.

Interrupting his thoughts, Jisung realized he heard steps. Light. Not of a soldier. Hesitating.

He closed his eyes and evened out his breathing.

The steps came closer, trying to be quiet.

The person belonging to the steps was not very gifted in stealth.

Jisung waited until the person was close enough, was trying to tie him out without waking him, thinking Jisung was sleeping or passed out, and then grabbed them.

He put their neck into a headlock and tightened his muscles until their breathing became stuttering. They choked out words he didn’t understand, clawing at his arms, over his wound.

But this was familiar territory. This was Jisung while on a mission. This was Jisung, not allowed to feel, to react.

He barely had to think about swallowing the pain.

He fully intended to make the person pass out, maybe steal their clothes and make an exit. Cold. Strategic. As if he was trying to get out after killing a target.

“Let go of him.”

Jisung’s gaze snapped upwards. There was Lord Lee, a bow in his hands with an arrow directed at him.

He had not yet tightened the string, which told Jisung two things.

One, Lord Lee was an experienced archer.

Two, Lord Lee could aim and release an arrow in less than a second.

Both things Jisung should be wary about.

Jisung could barely make out Lord Lee’s face, but the little he could see was cold, colder than before, and angry.

Jisung’s gaze dropped into the hair of his hostage, pictures of the result of anger flying across his mind.

“What if I don’t?” he asked as he looked up again, voice steady.

“Then you will die.” Lord Lee’s voice had gotten icy. “And I will make it hurt.”

Jisung considered it.

Earnestly considered it.

Death … death was peace. Jisung knew that. He had been the one bringing death too often to not see the way faces smoothed when the soul left the body. The last seconds, where pain became irrelevant, where his victims stopped screaming and crying and just – existed.

More than one time, Jisung had taken his time getting out of there, sitting next to a dead body and feeling envious of the peace they got.

Jisung didn’t get that peace. Jisung hadn’t earned that peace. Jisung just got pain.

But Jisung would get pain either way. That anger wouldn't be released when Jisung released his hostage, he knew.

Releasing his hostage simply made sure that only one person felt pain.

Slowly, Jisung relaxed his hold around his hostage, pushing them away, out of the way of the arrow. He hadn’t stopped holding eye contact with Lord Lee.

There was no arm protecting his important organs or head.

Jisung was free for the taking.

He saw Lord Lee’s hand shaking, barely. Slowly, Lord Lee tightened the bowstring. Aimed. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you,” he whispered. “After almost killing one of my lovers.”

Jisung looked to his hostage. The man was laying on the ground, labored breaths making sure he survived the lack of air Jisung had forced him through.

He was pretty. Cheekbones, eyes, lips. Long, silken hair. Jisung could understand taking him as a lover.

Maybe, in another life, he’d flirted with that man, just for fun.

Jisung looked back at Lord Lee. There was contentment in his chest.

“I don’t have a reason.”

The hand with the arrow stopped shaking. “Wrong answer,” Lord Lee said, and then there was pain.

Surprisingly, Jisung woke up again.

He … had not expected that.

He had fully thought Lord Lee would take him out as revenge, lie to his king that Jisung tried to get at his lover again, something.

But no.

Either death wasn’t as permanent as he had thought – and given his experiences, he was fairly sure death was permanent – or he survived the arrow piercing him.

“Don't move,” Lord Kim said in Cheoni, brows creased. “You got shot. Your shoulder. Arrow went through.”

Ah.

His shoulder?

Had Lord Lee not managed to take him out, had he not aimed as well as Jisung has thought?

“Lord Lee?” he asked, his voice hoarse and croaky. “His-” what was the word for lover, “-bedmate?” Fuck Cheoni and its many variations of one word. Bedmate? That sounded so crude.

Lord Kim’s lips tightened. “His lover,” – ah, there was the word – “survived. Bruises, hurt voice, nothing permanent. You lucky.”

Good.

“Did not want to kill,” Jisung said, still. “Just pass out.”

Lord Kim did not seem to appreciate it either way. “Shut up.”

“Wear lover’s clothes, run. Become civilian.”

“Shut up.”

Jisung stared at the ceiling. “Thought Lord Lee kill me. Angry enough.”

“Fucking Hyeon, shut up!” Lord Kim all but needed a few steps to be directly at Jisung’s bedside, forcing something metal over his face.

Jisung flinched, trying to get away, but Lord Kim was stronger than he looked and Jisung’s wound protested loudly.

When Lord Kim was finished, turning away and walking somewhere else, Jisung was left with the familiar feeling of being muted.

I really hoped you aimed better, he thought towards Lord Lee while trying to breath away a panic attack. A lot better.

oOo

“You put the muzzle on him?” Hyunjin asked, sipping tea. “Why?”

Seungmin looked away. “He made excuses for hurting you,” he said, almost dropping into a snarl. “There is no excuse.”

Hyunjin shrugged. “He just wanted to run away. Is that so terrible? It’s human nature, and even if he is unfree, he is still human.”

“Running itself is not terrible. It's understandable,” Seungmin said sharply, dropping down on Hyunjin’s bed. “But he hurt you. He goaded Felix into almost killing him.”

“Minnie, he barely spoke, there was no goading,” Hyunjin sighed. “Felix just saw me, hurt and in need of help, and snapped back to that day. I don’t think Felix intended to kill Jisung. I think he intended to kill Seojun.”

Seungmin pressed his lips together, not answering.

“I mean, Jisung’s alive,” Hyunjin added. “And it’s not because Felix was trying not to hurt me, I was fully out of the way. Felix realized last second that this wasn’t Seojun, that Jisung hadn’t tried.” Hyunjin stopped. Cleared his throat. Started again. “Tried raping me. Just taking a hostage and then letting that hostage go is not deserving of death. And Felix knows that.”

Seungmin stared onto his hands. “I know,” he murmured. “But … losing you … it was too close. He was too strong, you were coughing for hours afterwards, I can see the bruises still. It was too close to what Seojun did. And I know Seojun’s dead, but even the thought of losing you … I couldn’t listen to him anymore. I don't blame him for running. But I blame him for your hurt.”

Hyunjin softened, putting his cup down and walking over to Seungmin to sit next to him, nudging their shoulders together. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know you’re still afraid. I should have stayed with Minho-hyung, not go out hunting him.”

Seungmin grabbed Hyunjin’s hand, tracing nonsense lines over the soft skin. “I’m sorry too. You were the victim in that incident, but it’s us that haven’t gotten over it.”

That startled a bright laugh from Hyunjin. “Minnie, I’m not over it. I don't think I will ever be over it. I thought I would die, when he put me in a headlock and tightened his grip. I started begging him the same way I begged Seojun, that day. When I looked up to him, I saw a gaunt face with hollow cheeks and hatred blooming in his eyes, saw Seojun instead of Jisung.” Hyunjin trailed off for a moment. “But they look nothing alike. Seojun and Jisung. Also … when Seojun died, he cursed us. Cursed that we would never find our last love where we expect it to, cursed that our love would suffer, started cursing that the love that is fated for us would change into hatred.”

Seungmin’s face tightened again. “I have nightmares of that moment.”

“We all do. But when Jisung – when Felix shot him, I looked up because I heard the arrow be fired, but I didn’t hear screaming. Jisung was smiling, Minnie, he smiled while bleeding out. He wanted to die.”

Hyunjin could see the way the horror took over Seungmin’s face. “What?” Seungmin whispered. “But – we haven’t abused him. Sure, we treated him with mistrust, but that’s to be expected! Why would – why would he want to die after just two days in our palace?”

Hyunjin shrugged. “I read the catalog of his scars,” he said. “The one Felix did? I read it. He was severely abused since about half a decade. Maybe he was on the verge of breaking the entire time, and that moment just … pushed him over the cliff?”

Chapter Text

Hyunjin knocked at the door of the patient room. Then he entered, eyes carefully gliding over the empty bed until he found Jisung, standing in front of the window, staring into the courtyard.

“Hey,” Hyunjin said softly.

Jisung didn’t turn around. The only reason Hyunjin thought he even heard the hey was because his shoulders went up just a nudge.

“I’m Hyunjin? You took me as a hostage yesterday.”

The shoulders went up more. Jisung stared out of the window still.

“Do you want me to take the muzzle off?”

Jisung didn’t react.

Hyunjin frowned, because he definitely thought that the muzzle was uncomfortable for him, until he groaned. Of course Jisung wouldn’t react! Jisung didn’t understand a word he was saying.

Hyunjin sighed, walking towards the window. Communicating with hands and feet it was. He tapped onto Jisung’s shoulder.

Jisung’s head lowered for a moment, resignation filling his body in a way that transcended language barriers, and then turned to Hyunjin.

Hyunjin took the sight of him in.

He was smaller than Hyunjin. Just a bit, but enough to make Hyunjin realize it. He was still broader than Hyunjin, and his hair, only about chin length, was dirty and filled with … grass?

Instinctively, Hyunjin reached towards the grass to pick it out of Jisung’s hair.

Jisung looked up, eyes narrowed in confusion, but didn’t shy away from it.

Likely thought he wasn’t allowed to.

Hyunjin took his time, gently cleaning the fluffy hair and then threading his fingers through it, shaking off the dirt.

Jisung still watched him, silent and suspicious.

When he was finished, Hyunjin’s gaze dropped to Jisung’s face.

He had cute, full cheeks, even if his eyes were a bit sunken in. He looked … young.

But his eyes were oh so old.

Hyunjin blinked once, to break the eye contact. Instead, he looked at the muzzle. He had seen the old one, when Felix brought it, muttering over health hazards and the virtues of cleaning things that were in close contact with skin and breath, please clean things that were in contact with breath.

This one looked rather different. Like a small cage more than anything else. Thin but sturdy metal lined over his skin, allowing Jisung to breath in a way the old muzzle definitely did not allow for. It didn’t hide his face, just forced his jaw to close. If Jisung would try to speak, he probably could.

There was nothing to muffle his voice.

It looked more like the things that dogs got if they bit a lot.

But the old muzzle did prohibit him from speaking, Hyunjin knew, and the feeling of both was likely similar. Jisung probably didn’t even try speaking the moment Minnie had put it on his face.

Hyunjin licked his lips, then concentrated again. He tapped against the metal of the muzzle and mimed taking it off, then cocking his head to the side in question.

Jisung, surprisingly, shook his head. He also closed his eyes and leaned into the window again, ignoring Hyunjin again.

Hyunjin sighed. This wasn’t going well.

oOo

Jisung wasn’t sure what he should think about the man that had entered the room he was confined in, speaking soft Kang.

He looked vaguely familiar, but not enough that Jisung knew where he had seen him before.

Jisung had frozen when the man had started cleaning his hair – he hadn’t even known it was dirty.

Well, it made sense, given what he had done, where he had hidden yesterday, but … Jisung hadn’t given it even one thought.

Most of his thoughts were about how he hadn’t died, and how he was muted.

Again.

And then, the man offered to take off the muzzle. Sweet, but Jisung doubted his word was more powerful than Lord Kim’s, so he had declined it. The man shouldn’t feel the consequences of kindness. He hadn’t learned just what being punished for being soft made of you, judging from how he acted, and Jisung didn’t want him to learn.

Jisung turned to the window again, staring down into the courtyard. People were ushering in every direction, some hurrying, others walking slower than Jisung thought possible, stopping every few steps, smiling at another person or admiring flowers.

It seemed peaceful.

But so had Cheonan, the first few weeks.

Jisung knew better than to judge from something so superficial as a glance into the workings of the court.

He heard the man step away, heard the door close. His entire body relaxed a bit.

Finally, he was alone again.

He tore his gaze away from the window, touching the metal of the muzzle again, as if to find a way to take it off.

Not that he would, if he found it.

Even after he had threatened Lord Lee’s lover, they had kept him alive. That meant, from Jisung’s experience, that the worst had yet to come. Because threatening powerful people resulted in cruel punishments.

Jisung’s fingers brushed over the skin of his throat.

And now, they knew of his fear connected with his neck.

Just how likely was it that Lord Lee would come back with a collar, just a little too tight?

Maybe a leash, too, to sprinkle his fear with humiliation as well.

Jisung licked his lips, staring down at his hands. Scratches were everywhere, from him climbing the castle’s walls to escape guards. They had cleaned them, surprisingly.

The door opened again. Jisung stilled.

The man from before entered again, a tablet with food and a jug of water in his hands. It kind of reminded him of his and Lord Lee’s first meeting.

The man mimed eating the food.

Jisung sighed, and obeyed. He did not feel like eating, but if he was offered, he would take it.

He knew just how quick masters were with withholding food, and it was better to strengthen his body if that would come soon.

The man watched him silently. After some time, he pointed at himself, and said, “Hyunjin.”

Jisung tilted his head. “Jisung,” he said, pointing to himself.

The man – Hyunjin, apparently – smiled. He had a nice smile, very open.

Jisung wondered when the last time he had smiled like that had been.

Probably years. If not a decade.

Hyunjin pointed at the jug – inside the jug – and said, “Water.”

“Water,” Jisung echoed.

Hyunjin took to pointing at different things inside the room, saying the words for them in Kang and waiting for Jisung to echo him. If Jisung said it too badly, Hyunjin would repeat the words again, slower this time.

It was nice of him, helping Jisung learn. Jisung would repay him when the opportunity would come.

The last two words Hyunjin taught Jisung before he left the room were Yes and No.

Then Jisung was alone again.

Jisung woke up from harsh words. He blinked his eyes open, seeing someone dressed like a healer stand in front of his bed, arms crossed and shaking her head. He could make out the Kang word for no multiple times.

But the people that raised their voices louder and louder came closer, ignoring the healer. When she became louder as well, the no echoing in the room, Jisung could see the moment the loud people thought violence was okay.

Jisung quickly kicked her out of the way, onto the ground. The quick movement made him dizzy, his head exploding with pain, not helped by the way one of the people grabbed him by his shoulders and slammed him into the wall.

Fuck.

Jisung thought about fighting back. Just a moment. He could take them. Not without injuries himself, not when he barely survived an arrow to the shoulder, but Jisung was trained to be a murderer. These were just angry people.

But these were just angry people.

Jisung didn’t want to hurt them. And he would, gravely, if he fought back. He did not know how to be gentle, how to ration his strength, his violence. He was trained to kill, not to subdue.

Jisung made eye contact with the healer as she stood up, clearly shaken. She seemed to think about trying to save Jisung, curse that oath of healers, always trying to protect their patients.

But Jisung shook his head, just a tiny bit, and tried telling her to get out of the room with tiny motions, so that the people hurting him would not notice, would not attack the healer as well.

Luckily, she nodded and hastened out of the room.

Jisung felt pain, he knew. But his sight was blurring, his head felt like it was splitting, and the people hit and kicked him too quickly for him to realize it, now that he hadn’t fought back.

His breath was forced out of lungs, and Jisung felt like collapsing. The man that held him up by pressing his shoulders let go, watching the way Jisung folded into himself.

The next thing Jisung noticed was the boot on his throat.

His eyes bulged out, pain mixing with panic, and he started clawing helplessly at the boot, the leg attached to it.

But Jisung’s arms were shaking with the effort of even being held up, and there was the gentle blanket of unconsciousness just out of reach.

So Jisung let his arms fall onto the ground again, and allowed the blanket to hide him from the world.

oOo

Chan barged through the door. Healer Ahn had barely stopped explaining what had happened when Chan already had started running.

He knew exactly who the people attacking the slave were. A group of workers in the palace, who hadn’t liked that Kangmin hadn’t swallowed up Cheonan as part of the country, who hated Cheonan.

They had not liked that the envoy would come and bring gifts, but they had contained themselves, knowing better than to critique their King.

But now, when the slave that was part of the gifts had attacked Hwang Hyunjin, who was dearly beloved by the people, they had stopped holding back.

Chan just needed a few steps to be close enough to yank the workers back. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” he bellowed.

The workers stumbled back, surprised, but still angry. “He attacked Lord Hwang!” one of them said. “Why are you protecting him, Lord Bang? Do you not care?”

Chan inhaled. “What did you just say?” he said softly, dangerously.

The worker who had spoken clapped a hand over his mouth. “I – I didn’t-”

“I do not care? It is not my decision how to proceed! I asked Hyunjin, your beloved Lord Hwang, and he decided kindness. Who are you to ignore that?”

“We …”

Chan scooped up the unconscious slave from the ground and put him into the bed, nodding for Healer Ahn to proceed caring for him. Then he turned back to the workers. “This,” he pointed at the slave, “Is property of your king. Are you destroying a sword your king owns because it cut Lord Hwang? Snap a needle because it stabbed him when he embroidered a blanket for your king?”

“A sword and a needle cannot think! He could! He decided to hurt Lord Hwang!”

Chan snorted. “And the fact that a slave can think allows you to decide his punishment, as if he wasn’t owned by someone who is decidedly not you?”

“W – Would you have punished him?” one dared to ask.

Chan narrowed his eyes. “Any punishment either my King or Lord Hwang decide will be the slave’s consequence to endure for running and taking Lord Hwang as a hostage when he tried to escape. You, on the other hand, will be charged with vandalizing the king’s property.”

“But-”

“You can appeal to Lord Yang when he judges you,” Chan interrupted them. “Follow me.” He gave them into the hands of the guards that followed him when he ran here, telling them to bring the workers into the dungeon.

Just when they were out of sight, Chan turned around, entering the room again. “How bad is it?”

Healer Ahn sighed. “His throat is bruised. Worse than Lord Hwang’s is. He will likely be unable to speak without pain for quite some time. His wound at the shoulder is aggravated, but the suturing did not rip open, thankfully. He is bruised everywhere. I think his wrist is broken, or at least partly broken. The left one. Both his eyes are blue. The muzzle saved him from a broken nose or punched out teeth. Maybe he has a concussion.”

“So it’s bad, but survivable?”

Healer Ahn licked her lips. “Lord Hwang and Lord Lee both told me that the slave was smiling when Lord Lee shot him.” She paused for a bit, looking down on Jisung. “It is possible to survive his injuries. But the mind always helps with healing, just by wanting to be healthy again. If he wants to die … it is possible he dies. I am sorry. I will do my best to make him survive, but … I can only heal so much.”

“I understand,” Chan said. “Thank you.”

Healer Ahn just nodded. “He is a patient of mine, no matter what he did. Or what he is.”

Chan stared onto Jisung’s throat, so similar to the bruising on Hyunjin’s.

But where Hyunjin had people to lean on, a support system to fall back on, Jisung did not.

Chan pitied him, just a bit.

Chapter Text

Felix stared down on Jisung’s passed out body.

He was littered in bruises. And while Felix absolutely understood the urge to enact revenge on behalf of Hyunjin, he also knew that a country couldn’t allow people to enact their own judgement, free of laws and order.

A country that allowed that would get overthrown in a heartbeat.

Felix took the chair next to the bed Jisung rested on. The was silent for a while, searching for words that fit. The situation, his emotions. Just everything.

“Sorry,” he finally said. “You did what I told you to do. I shouldn’t have shot you after you surrendered. That’s not who I want to be.”

When he had seen Hyunjin, gasping for breath and eyes oh so panicked, Felix’s sight tilted. Suddenly, there was no fluffy hair filled with grass and other dirt, but an orderly bun on top of his head. There was no white lips and twitching eyes, just a smile due to the knowledge Felix would never do anything to endanger Hyunjin.

Instead of Jisung, a slave who wanted to be free, at all costs, he saw Seojun, a man who thought he could kill Minho through breaking him by breaking Hyunjin.

“I was so afraid,” Felix sighed. “If you had taken literally anyone else, even of my lovers, my mind would have been calm. But you had to take Hyunjin, the only one we almost lost entirely. You had to take him by suffocating him, the way Seojun tried to kill Hyunjin.”

Jisung did not answer. How could he? He was still unconscious, and Felix spoke Kang.

This was entirely for Felix. For trying to figure out what he felt. How to deal with it.

“Seojun died too easily,” Felix growled. “I did not manage to lay just one hand on him before he died. I was – I was unable to protect Hyunjin-ah.” That was it, wasn’t it? The reason Felix felt so … satisfied, when the blood pooled out of the body that tried to suffocate Hyunjin.

He hadn’t understood that Jisung wasn’t Seojun before he let go of the arrow. He knew that the others thought he did, because Jisung was still alive, but … the shot would still have killed Jisung, if help hadn’t come.

Just slower.

Felix stared on the shot shoulder, the wound hidden behind gauze. “You look nothing like the boy that taught me your mother tongue,” he murmured, this time in Hyeon. The language had come back to him so quickly, without even trying. “He cried so easily, too. Yelled at me when I came back from hunting, a deer slung over my shoulder, when we were young. Felt dizzy at the sight of blood. We joked that he was lucky to be born in Kangmin, because he would have suffered in Hyeon, with that military duty every boy has to follow.”

Jisung’s skin, below the bruises, was carved with scars.

“But you look it. You look Hyeon. You look – you look like you were born for war. I wonder how much of that they taught you, and how much was there already.” Felix reached out, feeling over a particularly big scar. “I wonder how much of it you hate, and how much you embrace.”

Felix was born for fight. He had helped the hunters in his village from a very young age. He had always looked lithe, thin even, but was one of the strongest children in the village. He knew how to kill an animal humanly before he knew how to spell the name of the village.

When Minho found him, saved him, really, he had offered Felix a different path.

Felix could study health instead of death.

Felix had taken it gratefully, had thrown himself into the study of medicine and anatomy. But he never stopped training, never stopped fighting. Few knew, fewer thought he was good, given how lithe he was.

Jisung had taken one look at him and had seen kin. Another child born for death, haunted by it.

Maybe that was another reason Felix couldn’t look at him and smile.

Jisung had made himself smaller when Felix had entered the storage room, had moved like he didn’t want to anger a predator.

Felix had noticed. Of course he had noticed.

It had felt like a slap in the face, no matter how much Felix tried to ignore it.

Here he was, a healer, and an assassin felt afraid of him.

Would Felix ever manage to stop? Stop fighting, stop training?

He doubted it.

He had tried before, but with his strength dwindling, he had felt exposed, unsafe.

No, Felix and Jisung would likely always feel like kin, death-touched.

Felix wondered if Jisung hated it as much as he did.

“Lix?”

Felix sighed, turning his head to the door. Hyunjin stood there. He looked bad. Guilty.

“It’s not your fault,” Felix murmured, looking back onto Jisung. “You didn’t tell them to hurt him.”

Because that was what Hyunjin felt guilty about.

“I know.”

Felix was surprised by the conviction in Hyunjin’s voice. He really knew.

So why did he feel guilty?

“I knew they would try stuff like this,” Hyunjin said quietly. “I am aware of the – the awe they hold for me. I should have put guards into the room. Healer Ahn was almost hurt by them, simply because she didn’t want to abandon her patient. She feels guilty, too. For running.”

“None of us thought of guarding his room,” Felix said. “He’s an assassin. We thought people would be smarter than to attack an assassin.”

“He was too weak to fight.”

Felix huffed, looking away. “He wasn’t,” he said.

Hyunjin stared at him. “What do you mean? He got shot, he almost died.”

“He was weakened,” Felix admitted. “But he’s an assassin. He knows the weak spots of the human body. But clawing out eyes is … kind of irreversible. Doesn’t count as self-protection anymore. Not from a slave to a free person. He knew that.”

Hyunjin’s stare turned to Jisung. “You think he decided that … getting beat to death was … better?”

“Safer,” Felix corrected. “Look at all his scars. These,” he pointed at a few, “come from beatings. Harsh enough to leave scars … scars that prominent … those beatings hurt. And there were many of them. Here, here, and here. There. And there. If you experience something that often, it stops being that scary.”

He watched as Hyunjin's gaze slipped to Felix's back for a moment, surely thinking about the marred skin, but nothing was said about Felix.

“He’s so abused,” Hyunjin whispered instead.

“He is. But one thing he did not experience is the different ways Hyeon and Cheonan execute their criminals.”

Hyunjin’s brows furrowed. “Naturally. He’s still alive. Why are you pointing that out?”

“Do you know these ways of execution?”

Hyunjin shook his head. “I know a few, but … not all.”

Good. Felix didn’t want him to know. “They are cruel. Painful in a way you cannot experience without dying. If anyone would ask Minho-hyung implement them, Hyung would exile them as punishment. Hyeon and Cheonan are the only countries that Jisung knew. Do you think he knew that Kangmin is kinder, in that aspect?”

Hyunjin paused. “Likely not.”

“Yeah. Being beat to death was better than one of these executions for blinding a free person. And he already wanted to die.”

And Felix had almost helped him with that.

“Lix,” Hyunjin mumbled. “When he wakes up … if … we’ll be kinder to him. Yeah?”

Felix’s eyes dropped onto the colored body in front of him. “Any punishment I wanted him to take for endangering you, he endured when he got beat,” he said. “He has a clean plate, for me.”

“Lix.”

Felix’s smile was painful. “He looks at me in a way none of you do,” he said, quietly. “Because he understands something none of you do. I feel … exposed. Stripped naked. I hate that part of me, and he pulls it back into my mind, reminds me that I am not just kind and happy. I will need time to come to terms with that.”

“Lix,” Hyunjin whispered. “We love any part of you. You don’t need to hate it. You can show it. Wouldn’t it be easier, if we look at you with the same understanding? We, who you know love you?”

Felix laughed, standing up, ready to go. “No,” he said. “Because the way he looks at me, from the moment he met me, was fear.”

oOo

Chan waited until no one was in Jisung’s room before coming in. He sighed at the sight of the beat body, pressing his lips together. “Sorry,” he said. “For coming so late. I didn’t – didn’t think that this would actually happen. If you were free, maybe, but you aren’t. And Kangmin people know better than to damage what belongs to their king.”

Jisung didn’t move. Not even one muscle twitched. He looked dead, would worry Chan into checking his pulse if Chan wouldn’t be able to see his chest go up and down, breathing shallowly.

Chan stared at one of the walls. “I don’t know why,” he whispered. “I don’t know why you shook up our lives in just a few days. Who are you to have that power?” The wall stared back. Chan’s vision blurred as he went more and more time without blinking. He tore his gaze back onto Jisung’s body. “Nothing of it was good, too,” he added. “You made Hyunjin-ah relive the scariest moment in his life, made Lixie experience a flashback, made Seungminnie legitimately angry. Do you know how difficult it is to make Seungminnie actually angry?”

Jisung didn’t answer, of course.

“I told Minho-yah he shouldn’t worry about you, but you made me a liar. Now he’s torn between caring for his lovers and wondering if it was his fault, that he didn’t implement enough guards.”

“Hyung.”

Chan flinched in surprise, turning around. Changbin stood in the door, accompanied by Jeongin, whose brows were furrowed in concern.

Changbin entered the room, closing the door after Jeongin went through as well. “You’re not as smooth as you think,” he said to Chan, without looking at him. “You feel responsible.”

“Am I not?”

“Do you manage the gifts from other nations?”

“No, Seungminnie …”

“Minnie does that. Yes. Do you care for the slaves and servants?”

“No,” Chan breathed. “You do.”

Changbin inclined his head. “I do.”

“And I am responsible for judgement, Hyung,” Jeongin added. “If anyone would want me to declare you guilty, I would laugh into their face. You had nothing to do with this. Only when the palace was searching for – Jisung, right? – you had the most responsibility, being the commander of the guards. But you did everything right. Hyunjin-hyung is the one who thought he could catch an assassin without even one weapon.”

“He thought-”

“He was stupid, Hyung,” Jeongin interrupted. “He meant well, but he acted stupid. If you really think this is your fault, you have to lay fault on Hyunjin-hyung too.”

“No.” That snapped out of Chan’s mouth immediately, without even thinking about it.

Jeongin smiled gently. “Then you carry no fault either. It is Jisung’s fault for running away, that triggered everything. We did not abuse him once, he had no basis thinking we would be like his former masters.”

“Abuse doesn’t let people think rationally,” Chan defended the slave. “And he was abused for years before even stepping into Kangmin.”

“So it is not Jisung’s fault either?”

Chan’s jaw clicked. “I see what you are trying to do here, Maknae.”

Jeongin smiled at him. “I know you do. And still, you know I am right. Sometimes, things just go south.”

Changbin nodded, having walked until he stood next to Jisung’s head. Then, he gently moved the head to pull of the muzzle. He felt over the dented skin, but didn’t see any bruises there, at least. “If – when – he wakes up, I will isolate him,” he told Chan. “The northern tower is unused since Seungminnie moved his library into the southern part of the palace. I will lock him there, and I will try to make him understand we do not tolerate abuse. Of course, he still belongs to us, but that does not make this like this okay.” His fingers brushed over some of the scars. Then he looked up, face stern. “Only Minho-hyung, Jeonginnie and I are allowed to interact with him until I deem him stable enough.”

Chan sucked in his lower lip, agreeing soundlessly.

“Makes sense,” Jeongin said. “We’re the people he doesn’t know yet. He has no actual reason to be afraid of us.”

“And we connect him with nothing bad,” Changbin added. “I mean, Minho-hyung a bit, but that will settle quickly.”

“Do that,” Chan said quietly. “But give me updates.”

“That, I can do.”

Chapter Text

Jisung woke up somewhere different where he had passed out.

Another waking up that Jisung hadn’t expected. Kangmin really was full of surprises.

Jisung blinked a bit, until he got his vision under control. Then he looked over his skin.

There were a lot of bruises, but they were old, almost going away. Split skin, but also healing already. His left wrist was stabilized by being tied to … a stick?

Jisung blinked again.

He saw a bit worse than he should, he was sure of that.

He used his other hand to feel at his muzzle, only then realizing that someone had taken it off.

Immediately, he tried speaking, but bright pain stopped him, forcing him into coughing.

“You are awake,” he heard a voice say, more neutral than any of the Kang people he’d met by now. “Drink.”

A glass of water was set on his lips. He swallowed it in small sips, face crunching up in new pain with every single one. Still, the water helped. He bowed his head in thanks.

The man who held the glass just nodded.

His Cheoni was worse than Jisung’s, with a heavy accent. But Jisung understood, and that was enough.

But then the man turned around, leaving the room. Another man entered.

Jisung narrowed his eyes. He looked vaguely familiar. When his eyes drifted a bit higher, he saw the crown in the man’s fluffy hair. Oh.

Oh.

This was the king.

Jisung tried bowing the best he could, which resulted in a pained groan and holding his head with his hands. He swore in his thoughts, rather creatively so.

“Stay,” the king said.

He spoke Hyeon. There was a light accent coloring his words, but he was even more understandable than Lord Lee had been. No dialect muffled his words.

Jisung didn’t know the king knew Hyeon. He kind of had thought that the king refused to learn the language of his parent’s killers point blank.

“You were unconscious for weeks,” the king told him, sitting down in one of the chairs, eyes on Jisung. “What is the last thing you remember?”

Jisung bit his lips. Should he try speaking again, after drinking? Yes. The king ordered it. “Fists,” he said, and it was painful, but manageable.

“I see.” The king sighed, leaning forward on the armrests of the chair. “You were attacked by a group of workers that wanted to avenge one of my lovers, the one you took hostage.”

Jisung blinked. The king’s lover? No, that wasn’t true. “Lord Lee’s lover?” he asked. Because wasn’t his hostage Lord Lee’s rather than the king’s?

The king actually smiled at that. “I have six lovers,” he said. “Bang Chan, Seo Changbin, Lee Felix, Kim Seungmin, Yang Jeongin and Hwang Hyunjin. That is the one you took hostage. They love each other as well. So yes, Lord Lee’s lover, but mine as well.”

Jisung blanched. His hostage being Lord Lee’s was bad enough, but the king’s lover?

Should he prepare for being executed for daring to lay a hand on someone that valued?

“He is alright,” the king said. “His bruises healed. Yours not quite yet.”

No. It didn’t seem that way.

“I want to make one thing quite clear, though, before we talk about anything else,” the king said, and Jisung prepared for bad news.

“You will not be whipped, or beat, or muzzled in your time here in the northern tower. You may be restrained if you attack me, Changbin-ah or Jeonginnie, but you will not endure abuse.”

Jisung stared at him blankly. “… Why?” he asked, genuinely confused.

The king’s gaze dropped onto his – bared, Jisung realized now – chest. “You have enough scars,” the king said, as if that made any sense at all.

Jisung blinked rapidly. “But – Your Majesty, I don't understand. I don’t understand. I’m – I’m not free. Why should you care if there are more scars on my body?”

“Basic human decency?” the king shrugged.

Jisung swallowed. “I didn’t mean to imply-”

“I know. And I also know that slavery is done very differently in Cheonan. It’s not the same here. You have been treated with suspicion, but that is because you are an assassin that came from the country that attacked mine. We wanted to know if you’re tasked with killing me.”

“No!” Jisung yelped, stretching out his hands as if to defend himself, ignoring the pain that came with the raised volume of his outburst. “No! I swear, I didn’t – that’s not – even if, they wouldn’t have sent me!”

The king tilted his head, more curious than anything. “Why? You’re skilled.”

“Yeah. True.” Jisung lowered his hands slowly. “But I am enslaved, and slavery does not foster loyalty. I was a sword they were unsure if they could wield it. I was skilled, but they feared I would decide to use my skill by killing them, my masters. I wasn’t sent to kill you, I promise.”

The king hummed. “But if they were so afraid of you, why not just kill you and be done with it? I did not demand a slave. They could have just sent none.”

Jisung rubbed his neck. “I survived two attempts of that. Accidentally.”

Now the king frowned slightly. “Accidental attempts, or accidental surviving?”

“Accidental surviving,” Jisung grimaced. “Uhm, one poisoned tea. I hated that tea, I usually just waited until they turned away to pour it into a plant. And, well, another assassin. I – I thought he was – I thought he was Kangmin, to be honest. I-” he lowered his gaze, “I killed him.”

The king didn’t seem angry.

Thankfully.

“They could have ordered you to kneel, and then slit your throat.”

Jisung chewed on his cheek. They could have.

Maybe he would have obeyed.

“I … I would have seen the blade. I’m … good. Like, really good. For that, they needed to believe I wouldn’t fight back. And they thought I would.”

“I see. So they sent you to Kangmin. To get rid of the dangerous sword.”

Jisung nodded, head still lowered. “I think they thought that maybe I’d – I’d snap, and kill you. But their main intention was getting rid of me. Maybe they also thought you’d kill me, as soon as you’d find out I’m Hyeon.”

To be honest, Jisung had suspected the same.

The king sighed, leaning back. “I cannot say I did not consider it. You are a Hyeon soldier, and I do not usually show them mercy if they infiltrate my palace. But you had no choice, so I decided to give you a chance.”

The correct answer to that would be I am grateful for your mercy, Your Majesty.

But Jisung wasn’t sure if he was grateful.

He stayed silent.

The king watched him, patient. “You want to die, don’t you, Jisung?”

Jisung swallowed. Then inclined his head. “Death is peace,” he said roughly. “I – I do want peace.”

“Will you die by your own hand? Answer honestly.”

Would he try? Jisung licked his lips. “No,” he said. “I – I don't belong to myself. I have, once, but – they carved prove into my body that I don’t, anymore. I – cannot stop obeying that. I will only die by – by the hands of others.”

The king slowly nodded. “I forbid you to die,” he then said, voice stable in a way Jisung envied. “You are not allowed to allow others to kill you. I will not carve prove of that order into your body, but you will obey nonetheless.”

Jisung’s shaking hands clenched into fists as he bowed his head. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he whispered, angry that even that, that even allowing others to lead him towards peace, was taken away from him.

“When we are done here, when you will leave this tower, I hope you will have found enough peace that you don’t chase it in death.”

A little, bitter laugh carved itself out of Jisung’s throat. “I am sorry, Your Majesty,” he said, “But that is unlikely to happen.”

The king’s dark, gentle eyes did not leave him. “We will see,” he said.

oOo

Changbin found Jisung rather enjoyable. He had a bright mind, when he was tired enough to relax. Most of their interactions consisted of Changbin teaching Jisung Kang, and, after Changbin asked him, Jisung teaching Changbin Hyeon.

Changbin had no real interest in learning Hyeon. He wasn’t that interested in languages, and he wasn’t born into a scholarly family, or nobility so high up it was part of his education. But Jisung lit up when Changbin could say sentences, so it was worth it.

Changbin taught Jisung practical sentences. I need to pee. I am hungry. I am thirsty. I am tired. I feel pain.

Jisung taught Changbin gentle sentences. The forest feels calm. Spring is colorful. I love my family.

With that, Changbin learned more of what Jisung valued.

Peace. Above all, he valued calm, loved the feeling of home.

But there was a melancholy in Jisung’s voice when he said these sentences, like he hadn’t said them in a very long time. Changbin’s stomach churned when Jisung’s voice broke as he taught Changbin the Hyeon words for mom and dad.

“Mom and dad alive?” Changbin asked.

Jisung shook his head softly. “Died long ago.”

Ah.

“Siblings?”

Jisung shook his head as well. “No,” he said in Kang.

“Partner?”

Jisung tilted his head. “Soldier partner?”

Ah. So that word was – used for both? Or Changbin misunderstood it when he read it in one of the books he consulted for learning quicker. “No. Love partner. You have?”

Jisung smiled, fragile. “Was promised,” he said. “She died. Before mom and dad.”

Oh. “Murder yes or no?”

“No. Sickness.”

“You love her?”

“No.” Jisung stared out of the window. “She … she was future. I knew. She was future wife. I – I liked. Future together. But – friends. She and I was friends. No, uhm, no love like books.”

“Anyone else?”

Jisung shrugged. “She died. I am soldier. Mom and dad died. I am slave. No time. No people.”

“You wish?”

Jisung shrugged again. “Uhm … future talker person? Said fated lovers no-love me. What’s no love? Never love? Just angry?”

“… hate.”

Jisung nodded. “Hate. I will love. They will hate.”

“That is sad.”

Jisung licked his lips. “I don’t know. No one love me, soldier and slave. No difference.”

Still sad. Changbin offered clumsily to tell the stories of how he and his lovers met, if Jisung wanted to know. Because they were happy. Even if their last piece would never arrive, they were happy.

Jisung seemed interested.

Changbin tried his best to explain the different ways they met, and was awarded with a small, amused smile creeping onto Jisung’s face in the middle of Jeongin’s story.

Good.

Smiling was good.

oOo

“I am justice person,” Jeongin said. His Hyeon was … bad. According to his teachers. But he still managed to hold a conversation. A bit, at least.

“Justice person?” Jisung asked, looking confused. “What is a justice person?”

“Uhm …” Fuck, what was the Hyeon word for Grand Judge? “People come to me and complain, and I help be fair?”

Jisung’s frown got stronger, until it smoothed. “Do you mean Judge? You are a judge?”

That … sounded familiar. “I think so. I bring justice.”

Jisung nodded. “Do you like it?”

“Yes.” Jeongin liked it a lot. Sure, the smaller disputes were … annoying, and some people were rather entitled, but he liked that he could make sure that the correct person got punished.

And even if he made the wrong call, he could atone for it.

When he was younger, the Grand Judge had been corrupt, and Jeongin had suffered because of it. Being the Grand Judge now, it made Jeongin feel assured that there would not be other children like him, lives completely destroyed because the Grand Judge did not care enough to actually look into the case.

“Why?”

“I bring justice,” Jeongin said again. “And if I’m wrong, I say I’m wrong. I will not … uhm … lie to protect face.”

Jisung’s face untensed slightly. “That’s really admirable.”

Jeongin sighed. “Should be common.”

“It should. It is not, though.”

Yeah.

Sadly.

“Jisung,” Jeongin said.

Jisung nodded, looking at him.

“If I have slave victim and noble perpetrator,” – how did Jeongin know the word for perpetrator but not judge? Maybe his teachers had not been entirely wrong – “I will say noble is wrong. I promise.”

Jisung did not look at him. “Okay,” he said quietly. He did not believe Jeongin.

Well.

They had time.